


Lie Through Your Wolfteeth

by AtomicPen



Category: Final Fantasy IX
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:04:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomicPen/pseuds/AtomicPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a straightforward task—find the supersoft, save his brother, get back to normalcy. But nothing ever turns out the way that it is supposed to, least of all when a princess is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

 

 

 

All his life, people misjudged him.

They called him dim-witted as a child, too angry as a young man, then whispered behind his back, where they thought he couldn't hear, of thickheadedness thereafter. Only fit to do the dirty work of back alley brawls and thievery. With a wide, iron jaw, pointed ears that _yes, did help him hear better_ , and two bottom cuspids sharp enough that he cut his tongue on them as he grew, he seemed more feral than man to most—he knew from the many who had no problems telling him so. Born to a single mother, he took much more after the father he never knew--though due to death or abandonment or some other reason, his mother never did tell. His mother had affectionately called the cuspids his wolfteeth, making him wonder often about his father. He could still feel the scars along the sides of his tongue whenever he spoke. Over the years, he'd learned to do plenty with that tongue--how to get himself into and out of trouble; how to change his accent, and eventually, his language when he wanted; how to make a woman squirm and shudder. Most of those hadn't come until he was older, until after he'd found his mother's body, the smile still splitting her face from chasing her final dreamwine fantasy.

Not that anyone ever asked Marcus about his past, and he was content to let it stay buried with that worn velour chair of his mother's he broke apart and burned years ago.

He should have guessed she'd be the one to break that unspoken custom.

She started on the cable car from Summit Station to its sister Alexandria one. The Alexandrian princess took the seat parallel to him, across a small aisle in the pulley car and he could tell she was curious about him. She had been since they made their limping escape from Alexandria castle those few months ago. She was his younger by a few years, but held herself as much older--especially now, since he had last seen her on the Prima Vista.

She also felt guilty; he watched the constant slow entwining and unfolding of her fingers. He knew she felt it was her fault, what happened to Blank, and he supposed some of it was. Mostly though, it was her goddamn knight's fault--that and the poor aim of that little black mage kid. Had the knight not been involved or the kid a better shot with his fire spells, Tantalus would have made no waves when they finished 'I Want to Be Your Canary' and left for Lindblum. Would have left none the wiser until long after they were gone.

Marcus frowned a bit. None of that had happened and now Blank was petrified in that damn forest. He shifted his head just slightly to glare at the Pluto Knight Captain sitting in the set of seats just up from his princess. Fool of a man didn't know when to keep his mouth shut or when to play a part. Marcus's gaze slid over to the princess herself, who really didn't look like a princess at all anymore. She wore plain orange overalls and a white tunic and bodice that didn't call undue attention. Marcus probably stood out more himself with the pair of tattoo lines running down his arms--which he also caught her staring at, more than once.

Let her stare—he hadn't decided if he cared enough to be more than politely ambivalent toward her after hearing she ditched Zidane the first chance she got in Lindblum. But, princess knew how to play a part, that was for sure. If he was being honest, she was far better than Ruby--but he knew better than to say that out loud. Yet, for all the trouble she and hers had caused, Marcus couldn't quite banish the memory of how she felt when she fell into his arms as the improvised 'Cornelia'.

"Marcus?" she said suddenly, breaking his thoughts, her eyes on him. He lifted his chin to look at her directly. "Um... If I might ask--" She lowered her eyes, then raised them to him again. "I mean, your tattoos."

A dark eyebrow lifted beneath his red bandana. "What about them?" All at once, as he answered her, his voice sounded too deep to his ears. Too grated and rumbling. His shoulders felt too broad and his chest too wide; he imagined her slim form would get lost in them.

She blushed and wavered that line between confident and not knowing quite what to say. Finally, she gave in. “What's the story behind them?”

A wry smile twisted the corner of his mouth. The lie came easily. “Nothing special, trust me.” He shrugged to her skeptical look, shoulders rolling beneath his sleeveless tunic. Her eyes followed. “I liked the design, so I got them.”

“Did it hurt?”

The loyalty in him growled not to answer her, to let her think what she would—she did drop Zidane as soon as he got her to Lindblum, after all. Soon as he stopped being useful to her. Why give her more, that growl argued, when you're just another tool for her? He pushed the thought away—he never let his knee-jerk reactions throw their weight around for long—and drew in a breath through his nose. He smelled mint tinged with something sweet he didn't recognize. She wasn't using them, he told himself, she was only trying to do what she thought would help. Zidane was part of his Tantalus family, yes, but he was also a fool. Marcus had lost count years ago how many times he wanted to cuff the tow-headed thief upside the head for the unnecessary situations he'd tangle around himself.

There was no harm in talking with her, after all. It was just conversation.

“Well, someone taps a needle that's been dipped in ink into your skin for a couple of hours. Honestly, I stopped feeling after the first,” he added, at her wince. Not that she seemed squeamish, but Marcus didn't like the idea of making any woman uncomfortable. What he told her was mostly the truth, besides, until the tattooist got to his hands and knuckles. He waited for the inevitable, 'Why would anyone want to sit through pain like that?', but it never came, and that surprised him. She seemed to accept his answer, and fell into silent thought. It was just as well, he decided, and looked away.

Her knight, Steiner, watched him—a leashed hunting dog straining to be loosed on prey. Regardless that he had done nothing to harm, endanger, or even insult the princess, Marcus knew Steiner viewed his very presence as a threat. He ignored the Pluto Captain. Let him think or suspect what he wanted—Marcus' main concern right now was getting to Treno and the supersoft, and then getting to Blank. He had no time for inquisitive princesses sitting on a tram with him, nor for assuaging the unfounded fears of her keeper.

A few minutes later, she spoke again, when Marcus had his eyes focused out the window at the scrolling mountainside.

"I—I'm really sorry about your friend. Your... bro." He dragged his eyes from the window only to find she had cast hers down to her lap and fiddling fingers.

A thousand things ran through Marcus's head, from bitter accusations to softened reassurances. "Blank knew there'd be danger. And I'm pretty sure this stuff will cure him, once we find it. He didn't go in blind-sighted." _Like Zidane,_  he wanted to add, but held his tongue.

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and he was struck by how warm of an amber they really were. It was no wonder Zidane was enthralled by her so quickly—but then, Zidane was enthralled by most pretty girls quickly. Still, Marcus found the next thought that had been in his mind was fled. _Don't be a fool,_ he told himself, and wet his lips as her face softened.

"I guess...” she began, subdued, but then a light flared within her eyes, an august thread braiding through her voice and into the bones of her jaw. “However, it still doesn't make it right. I will do everything I can to help."

"While I appreciate the sentiment," he intoned intentionally, leaning back into the seat to rest one arm across the top of it, “no thanks. We'll be fine on our own.” He doubted a princess and a loud knight with too many scruples could be much help in a thieving endeavor.

The corners of her mouth tightened at the clip of his voice, the way his chest rebuffed her offer. “Well, I will try, regardless. I'm certainly not useless in a conflict now, you should know, if that is what you're worried about.”

Marcus turned his jawline to her, eyes out the window again. “You can do what you want, Princess. You will, anyway. But you should be careful with your involvement in certain operations while in Treno.”

Steiner was halfway out of his seat in anger. “Did you just threaten the Princess, you brigand?”

Marcus laughed once, softly, wolfteeth smooth against the inside curve of his lip. “Don't be a fool. I'm just warning her to be mindful of her reputation. Treno isn't called 'the Dark City' for irony's sake.”

Dagger put a quiet hand on Steiner's arm and he settled back into his seat, though his eyes never left Marcus.

"You know, for someone of your... ah, skill-set and background," she began, "you certainly are well-mannered and well-spoken.”

Marcus snorted. "What, did you think all Tantalus was made up of ruffians and idiots? I know you spent a lot of time around Zidane, but don't let him color your opinion of the rest of us." Why should he care so much about what she thought of him?

Before she could interject, before he could check that old knee-jerk defense from throwing its weight around, the words came tumbling from his mouth. "Besides, I _have_ performed in prominent plays, you know. I've acted in Treno more than a couple of times—in lead roles. And you've got to understand the part if you want to give the character justice."

She didn't have to know those high-profile performances in Treno were covers for some of the most profitable operations Tantalus pulled off. Nor did he have to mention to her all the older plays deemed too archaic in speech to perform he had devoured time and again in his free time simply because he loved the flow of the language so much. He didn't have to tell her he hated the idea of being just more muscle with no brain to back it up. He regretted saying anything at all the moment he finished speaking, but he could do nothing about it now. He stared holes into the seat in front of him, irritated at himself that she had started to worm beneath his skin so quickly.

Out of his peripheral, he saw her study him intently, curiously.

"You really aren't what you seem, are you?" she asked quietly after a long moment.

Marcus hesitated, and never got the chance to reply as the cable car came to a jolting stop, nearly throwing them from their seats.

“What's going on?” Steiner demanded, jumping out of his seat in tandem with Marcus and Dagger.

She slid her lithe frame past him and ran the few steps to the car conductor.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Probably just an obstruction—please return to your seat while I remove it and get us moving again,” The conductor instructed her. She didn't move as he went outside—something didn't feel right to Marcus and he remained standing as well. They weren't waiting long before the conductor came running back inside the car, eyes wide and short of breath.

“Are you all right?” Dagger instantly asked, her hand straying for the long racket leaning in the weapons' compartment next to the conductor's chair.

“I—I don't know!” the conductor stammered. “There's something on the tracks!”

Dagger exchanged a look with Steiner before giving him a nod that held an entire conversation within it. They spared Marcus no such glance, but he was already moving toward the door—neither he nor Steiner had stored their weapons in the compartment and so did not need to pause to retrieve them. The Pluto Captain pushed in front of him to be the first out—couldn't let his precious princess endanger herself and couldn't trust the brigand—with the two of them close behind. Once out of the cable car, only a mild breeze greeted them and disturbed the air. Dagger jogged ahead of them, rounded to the front of the car first.

Looking around with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, Marcus saw nothing but rocky, scrubby slopes. He fell in behind Steiner. A sudden swift wind howled along the length of the stopped car, and Marcus breathed deep as it blew against his face; he twisted around, looking to the front of the car where Dagger had gone, his sharp nose sifting out something very strange on the wind.

“Over here!” Dagger shouted right after he caught the scent. Steiner surged into clanking motion only a few steps behind the Tantalus rogue.

Drawing his wide falcata sword and rounding the front of the car, Marcus sucked in a breath when he saw what Dagger faced.

“Sonuvabitch of a black mage,” he swore under his breath. Around the cool grip of his sword, his fingers tightened until they hurt. The thing before them was unlike any other black mage Marcus had ever seen—tall and slim, with gleaming eyes as bright as the sun that twisted a rope of fear taut through his gut.

“Princess!” Steiner called, sword drawn and next to Marcus.

“Steiner—I think this is the same one we saw on the cargo ship,” Dagger told him, long racket in her hands.

Marcus's eyes flashed to Steiner, who looked from Dagger to the black mage. “Yes, I think you're right. But I thought it had been destroyed...?”

Giving the mage a second look, Marcus saw beyond his terrified impression—something was wrong with it. It shuddered and the impressive wings that spread out behind it were bent at odd angles, missing feathers in several places. Dagger shouted at it, her fingers angry and white around her racket.

“Tell me something! Why do you want to capture me?”

Steiner ran up to her, though Marcus hung back a few breaths before following in his wake. “Princess!” The knight put himself between Dagger and the black mage. “It's too dangerous—please stand back!”

A sporadic tremor went through the black mage and it sparked. “Mission... retrieve... princess... alive...” was all it seemed able to repeat. Determined, Dagger pushed around Steiner.

“Why? What do you want with me? Who sent you on this mission?” Marcus could see Dagger's hands shaking, and his fingers flexed along the hilt of his sword.

“I don't think you'll get much more of an answer—it doesn't understand what you're asking,” he told her, another arc of electricity running between the mage's wings.

“Mission... retrieve...” it said again, lurching toward them.

“But—“ Dagger began to protest, but a shrill noise cut through the air and stopped her words short as Marcus gritted his teeth against the sound.

“Eliminate... all!” it shrieked at them, its voice closer to metal scraping harsh against metal than any human sound.

Marcus knew Steiner was a decent enough fighter; the bulk of the military force in Alexandria may have been made up of women, but that didn't make Steiner, the Captain of the Knights of Pluto, take his job any less seriously just because he was in the minority. The knight darted in front of Dagger with a speed and grace Marcus wished he exhibited outside of battle to swing a heavy-handed blow, effectively interrupting the broken mage's charge. It reeled back, throwing off sparks in the face of Steiner's glare.

“Stand back, Princess!” he yelled over his shoulder. “The knave and I shall handle this fiend!”

Marcus didn't take his eyes from the mage as he moved forward, joining Steiner to flank Dagger protectively a step behind them both. “Perhaps don't insult me at the same time you want my help,” he grated, absently correcting his stance and reversing the grip on his falcata. Adrenaline flooded through him, and scattered the fear that had threatened to fill him up. Steiner's broadsword took a chunk out of the mage's side with another cleaving swing, giving Marcus an opportunity while it recovered to lunge forward. He swept his blade up, knocking it even more off balance as the thick, deft fingers of his off-hand found a cool, thin metal rod hanging off the heavy belt that it wore.

Marcus leapt nimbly out of the reach of a blow from the mage's stave, flanking Dagger once more and slipping the rod through the back of his belt to look over later. Allowing himself a moment to slide his eyes over to her, he said, “But, in this instance, I think I might have to agree with your knight. Too risky for you to get hurt.” From the corner of his eye, he saw the malfunctioning black mage as it reeled from one of Steiner's attacks. Man didn't fool around in battle—Marcus could appreciate that.

She cast him a quirking grin, in on some secret of which he was unaware. Her long racket swung over her head and Marcus felt a thin, tingling layer settle over him. He cast a glance back to her.

“A mage, huh?” he remarked, feeling as though he should have known somehow. He saw the shift of surprise change her face too late while his attention was diverted from the battle.

“Watch out!” Dagger shouted to no avail as he was caught by a charging attack from the black mage.

He whirled but couldn't dodge the blow, so instead continued to turn and take the brunt of the onslaught with his shoulder. The force of it nearly knocked him off his feet, and Marcus swallowed the gratitude it had only been from a stave and not a blade.

“Are you all right?” Dagger asked, a hitch catching her voice with worry.

He grimaced and straightened, rolling his shoulder and shaking the pain off while Steiner parried the black mage into distraction. “Just a bruise,” he told her, retaking his stance and turning his eyes back to the fight, hoping that wasn't a lie. Time enough after to sort it out.

Along his peripheral, he saw a silvery light encompass Steiner, who made no motion save a nod of thanks to Dagger. _She certainly was telling the truth about her abilities._

The black mage fumbled over its own robes and Marcus took the opening to barrel into the mage with his good shoulder, flipping his grip on the falcata to thrust down and into the sparking torso. A jolt went through his fingertips and up his arm. Pulling back on his sword, he quickly found there was no prying it free.

“Damn it!” he cursed, the sharp bridge of his nose furrowing. He tried to lever the blade loose, but only succeeded in raising another volt that danced up his arm, raising the hairs along his skin. The black mage tried to shove him aside, and Marcus leaned into it on instinct; it couldn't gain any more ground against his bulk. Marcus threw an edged look back at Steiner. “Hit it now! It's stuck on my sword and I won't be able to hold it for long!”

The knight hesitated just a moment, and Marcus snarled at him, a third arc of electricity snaking beneath his skin. If that damn knight didn't move soon and those shocks kept getting stronger, he'd be worse off than a rod in a storm. Better hold out as long as he could. Teeth ground tight enough to make his head hurt and imaging his boots grew roots that clutched into the clay and rock, Marcus pressed his weight into twisting his falcata deeper into the failing machinery. The mage beneath him bucked and let out a piercing metallic shriek; through the flashing barbs arcing again from nerve to nerve in his arms, Marcus wondered if it felt pain as he did, or if its various gears and cogs were just malfunctioning beyond repair now.

“Dammit, knight, now!” he snarled through his teeth.

Steiner, whether having heard him or not, burst forward at what felt to Marcus was the last viable moment before his fingers refused to keep hold of his sword. The knight ran out beyond the edge of his line of sight, and Marcus hoped he was taking the opportunity to flank the incapacitated mage. Distantly, the blood-iron smell of the air after a lightning strike coiled through his nose, followed by a sickly sweet burning that he had to fight from turning his stomach. Acutely aware of every bone and tiny fracture and taught ligament in his hands and forearms, Marcus blinked away purple and black spots from his eyes. He couldn't let go. He had to hold on.

“Just... a little...” he gasped to the burning suns where the black mage's eyes should have been. They bore a hole into his head and blackened his vision like a sunspot.

He heard Dagger shout something from far away, and he couldn't quite find the strength he needed to strain for the words. His hands started to slacken, but a hot warning went off in his memory and he grasped for the hilt again. Small charges of electricity spiderwebbed up his arms, following, Marcus decided, the lines of his tattoos. Hold on, those burning words told him. Hold on. Marcus clenched his jaw and willed his fingers to obey.

_Let go!_

Eyes closed tightly against the shaking and flashes of light before him, a guttural sound vibrated his throat. No—he had to hold on. He couldn't let go, tried to remember why.

_Let go, Marcus!_

“... can't...”

A cool hand slid like pouring water onto his shoulder, far too hot in comparison, stilling everything in his world after so many tremors. Muscles there twitched of their own accord beneath her fingers.

“Marcus.” Dagger's voice drifted like sweet smoke through a pipe. Did he make a noise in response? “I need you to let go of your sword. I can't heal you until you do.” Her voice was soft and light as gossamer in his ears. “Can you do that for me?”

Slowly, like prying open a clam shell, Marcus's eyes opened, focused on the arms, the hands clenched around the hilt of a falcata for an instant before he remembered they were his. His head cleared and his vision stopped shaking. Dark root-like markings snaked up his forearms and covered his hands, made something in his gut drop. Throat feeling burned and raw, Marcus tried to swallow and withdrew his hands, watching them shake with a vibration from outside his body, his palms tingling with a strange hum across the rough skin. Before him, he saw the still-sparking remains of the black mage fall to the ground with his falcata impaled on it, and he distantly realized he'd been the only thing holding it up.

“Okay, good,” Dagger said, slipping her hand off his shoulder to come around between him and the black mage. She looked at his face a moment, then down at his arms, touching his knuckles. “You're going to be okay,” was all she said, then closed her eyes and moved her other hand to match the first now hovering close to his skin.

“What were you thinking, holding on like that?” Steiner scolded from somewhere behind him. “You could have been killed or—“

“Steiner!” Dagger snapped, small wrinkles creasing at the top of her nose. “I need to concentrate, please. He's badly hurt.”

The knight fell silent. Dagger drew in a smooth breath, and Marcus could almost see her will her mind into quiet. When she exhaled softly, a cool green light spread from beneath her fingertips onto his arms. He felt the coolness wind up his muscles like a ribbon, wrapping behind his eyes and tasting almost of mint on his tongue. His head felt right again as the cool tendrils retracted back down to his arms. The burnt scars left there from several arcs of shock faded from the top first, and he watched in fascination. It was as if a weed had taken root beneath his skin and she was now drawing it up and out. The heat twined with the scars was pulled away along with the rest as she worked, and Marcus's heart roared in his chest like a bear in a cage.

When she got to his wrists, it looked as if the roots tangled with one another, catching on his veins and bones and refusing to let go. The heat built up again; beads of sweat dotted his temple. Shallow lines across her brow deepened and she paused to scrape her teeth along her lip before taking both his wrists in her hands.

The light brightened and the green press of her fingers soothed his skin for as far around as they could wrap, unable to encompass the whole of his wristbones. The heat flared, fighting against the cool. Marcus briefly clenched his jaw and held himself still.

He could not say how long they sat, he with his spine curved and stiffening, she bent with her hair falling over her shoulder, nearly brushing their hands. Steiner shifted around in his armor behind Marcus, but the sounds were distant, unimportant.

In tandem with a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth, Dagger sat up, moving her hands away and drawing the last of the roots and heat out of his skin. The green light dissipated into tiny particles until those were eaten by the air.

Marcus tested his hands, balling them into fists and releasing them, turned his wrists and flexed the tendons in his arms, rolled his wounded shoulder without a twinge of pain. He looked up to find Dagger watching him.

“Thank you,” he said, getting to his feet, trying his balance and pleased to find it intact. “I've never seen something like that done before.” He didn't try to keep the mild awe from his words.

Leaning past the light blush rising on her face to where the black mage lie motionless on the ground, Marcus ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword, still imbedded, still warm to the touch. Once he got to Treno, he would have to pay a visit to the weapons shop to get the edge sharpened. He would do what he could on the road, but there was only so much a small whetstone could manage. It would especially need tending after this battle. He tugged on it to pull the blade free and winced at the harsh scrape of metal against metal, but his effort yielded no success.

Muttering a soft curse, he tugged harder, to no better avail. It finally took bracing a boot against the mage's torso and yanking back to free it, small friction sparks leaping from the edge as he did so.

“Damn!” he said, catching his balance again nimbly, a step back from the mage.

Lowering the falcata in front of himself and resting the flat of it against his palm, he inspected the damage done. All along the length of the blade, thin fingers of black burn marks stretched, mirroring the scars on his arms minutes ago. After fruitlessly attempting to wipe the black off, and hoping the integrity of the steel wasn't compromised by the damage, Marcus had no choice but to simply sheath it.

Turning his attention back to the wreck that once was an intimidating black mage, Dagger came to her feet beside him, and Steiner to stand on his other side.

“Why...?” Dagger breathed, shaking her head. “Why...? What did it want with me?”

Steiner shifted and put his mail gauntlet tenderly on her shoulder. “Princess...”

Never taking his eyes from the mechanical remains, his voice heavy and rough as gravel, Marcus said, “Burmecia was attacked by an army of black mage soldiers.”

A gust of wind whistled through the pass in the cleft of silence his words left.

Then, with quiet resignation, Dagger said, “... I know.”

Memories of plays performed in Burmecia's sweeping, gracefully-roofed amphitheater simply for the sake of performing, with no other motive backing them filled him. The vibrant beauty of all the house gardens and pools kept verdant and so very alive in all the rain always made Marcus defend the kingdom to anyone who sighed and named it _dreary_. His lungs drew in a deeper breath with no forethought, a hot anger rising from his belly.

“Those mages,” he growled, “wiped out the people of Burmecia...” So many people who had come to him after a play, bringing a gift box of vegetables grown in their water gardens, or a handful of reed flowers, carefully made preserves, a kind word when they had nothing else to offer. So many kids he had seen pretending to be the characters from the plays Tantalus brought them, running through the cobbled streets and over low stone walls.

As Dagger remained silent, his hand clenched into a fist by his side. He wanted to smash was was left of this thrice-damned black mage until his knuckles were raw and bleeding.

Steiner's words cut through the air around them. “Who would do such a thing?”

A tight cord in Marcus threatened to snap, and he rounded his anger toward the knight. “Are you serious? How ignorant can you be?”

Caught off-guard by the sudden fury facing him, Steiner's eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back. “What do you mean?”

Ready to snarl a venomous response, Marcus was stopped by Dagger's hand on his chest. She didn't press against him, but the gentle weight of her hand halted him in his tracks regardless.

“Stop it, Steiner...” She looked at neither of them, amber eyes focused instead through the rising smoke from the black mage. “I know who did it.”

Steiner seemed no less surprised by her quiet words than by Marcus's angry outburst. “Princess?” The honorific was nearly a whisper.

His heart thudded beneath her hand so loudly, he was sure she could feel it before she drew her hand back. “We're almost in Alexandria,” she said, curling her hand into herself and ignoring both of them. “I must go to the castle and see my mother. She'll listen to me.”

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

He didn't look at her when she slid into the seat across from him, keeping his eyes and his mind fixed out the window. The tram was silent save for the steady clacking of the thick cable drawing the car along its tracks through the mountains.

“I think we're almost there,” she said, quiet.

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So, you already knew about the attack on Burmecia.” Marcus wasn't sure if he wanted it to be more of a question, a confirmation, or an accusation. He didn't know what good any of those things could do, but the boiling in his heart needed him to say something.

“I heard about it, yes, of course,” she replied; he could hear the softening around her words, and it both cracked his heart more and lent more heat to his anger. “I'm not like Steiner.”

It started as almost inaudible hitches in his breath until it built and eventually coalesced into quiet, bitter chuckling. No, she wasn't much like Steiner, and yet somehow she still was.

The confused, slightly worried look slanted across her face was one he expected when he dragged his eyes to her from the window.

“You're changed,” was all he said.

She was taken aback by his statement and looked down at her lap and hands as if something were amiss, before looking back up at him, her brow knit. “Me? You mean the way I look?” He couldn't tell if she were complimented or offended.

“Not just that,” he replied after a moment, and she relaxed.

A small, sad smile slowly curved her mouth and her lashes lowered. “Well... a lot has happened.”

Enough memories from the past month and a half to write a five-act play from ran through his mind, and he imagined Dagger felt similarly from their mirrored silences. She was the one to break it again.

“Oh, speaking of which...?” She lifted her eyes to his.

“Yeah?”

“I've been through my fair share of battles.”

She left the end hang off her statement, and he knew he followed where she meant to lead him, but wasn't certain he cared for the direction. “Yeah, I saw that myself. What's your point?”

“We still need to find the supersoft and save Blank, right?”

Marcus didn't answer right away—she knew he had to do this, and was going to insert herself into his business regardless of anything else. He honestly didn't want her to get more tangled up than she already was in this mess, but the set of her jaw and the light in her eyes told him clear as any words that it didn't matter what he wanted.

“You're going to come along even if I refuse, right?” Only years of acting kept the resignation from his tone.

For a split instant, he could have sworn his breath stopped when her face brightened and she smiled. Marcus wouldn't ever say it was like the sun coming from behind the clouds or anything remotely poetic, but there was a noticeable weight that lifted off her as she realized he wouldn't turn her away. She felt responsible for what happened to Blank, he already knew, but the vein of guilt must have run much deeper than Marcus had thought for her reaction to be so significant.

“Of course I am,” she told him, and he couldn't muster it in him to be upset at the fact that a good portion of her reason for helping was to alleviate her own guilt.

 _It really wasn't your fault_ , he found himself wanting to say. He could almost taste the words on his tongue, and scraped his wolfteeth against their scars to quell the urge. She had come willingly, he reminded himself, even slid effortlessly into their play with none the wiser, and was as much at fault as the rest of them when their ruse was found out.

Marcus leaned forward, resting one elbow on his thigh. “Will your knight captain insist on helping as well?”

Dagger slid a look over to Steiner, who seemed less vehement about keeping an eye on Marcus than before their battle with the black mage and had cast his attention out the window nearest instead. Her answer was just above a hushed breath.

“He will want to go where I do. It... he has made it his duty to protect me, despite my reassurances that I don't need it.” A shallow crease drew along her brow before she looked back at Marcus. “That I don't want him to put himself into unnecessary danger because of me.”

A wry smile twisted his mouth and he shook his head. “Have you ever read any old plays? I mean the ones with speech so archaic they aren't performed anymore?”

Confused, Dagger studied him. “Yes,” she answered slowly. “I've read a few.”

“Then you should already know the princess always has some guard, someone laying down their life for her if need be. He's a knight,” Marcus went on as the root of her nose scrunched just slightly in curious appreciation as he spoke. “He will always want to protect something.”

Her amber gaze held him as she considered his words. “And what about you?”

“I'm not a knight.”

“You don't have anything you want to protect?” He watched her face, the way just one eyebrow shifted, the smallest tilt of her head to the opposite side. Marcus sat back upright in his seat, the memories of Burmecia and all those he'd watched over in Tantalus through the years filling his mind. Of Blank knowing full well that running after Zidane and helping her might have ended in his death. Out of all of Tantalus, Blank could have been a knight if he had wanted.

Her soft voice reminded him of the present moment she was now in with him. “I don't think a person has to be a knight to want to protect someone or something.”

“No,” he agreed, and the hush of his tone surprised him. “You don't.”

Silence settled between them for a while after that, and he was content to leave her to her thoughts, his own drifting to his task at hand and Blank. He felt they'd taken too long—too long for him and Baku to find out about the supersoft, too long to pinpoint possible locations of the potion, too long to get to where he needed to be. Blank had been petrified for well over two months, and nobody had any idea what the long-term effects of that were. Marcus frowned out the window. And it'd be even longer until he got back to the forest to find his fellow after he acquired the supersoft. If it really was in Treno at all.

A small breath escaped him quietly, and he closed his eyes for that space. _Hang on, brother. I'm coming as fast as I can_.

When he opened his eyes again, out of his peripheral he saw Dagger watching him soundlessly, and she did not break the air with any words even after their eyes met. Maybe it would be good to have her along after all, he suddenly realized, remembering the cool green touch of her hands when she had healed him. She already wanted to accompany him to assuage her conscience; he should take advantage of that opportunity to make sure Blank was okay.

Once she crept back into his thoughts, his attention alternated from out the window to her, questions taking form and rooting in his mind, though he held his tongue for now. When Baku had announced they were going to kidnap the princess of Alexandria with no other explanation, Marcus knew something large was brewing behind the stage. The markers that he could see didn't make sense for them to have been hired by some plotting noble, and kidnapping was never Tantalus' style. In the midst of trying to translate the parts of the set Baku wasn't telling them about, he couldn't say he was even surprised to learn later that the princess had wanted to go with them all along—not after the way she had slipped into his arms as Cornelia in front of a host of nobles that included her mother.

She glanced back his way from the window opposite their seats and caught him looking at her. Steeling himself for accusations or questions, her sudden bright smile surprised him.

“In a way, I'm glad for this detour,” she said, then added at the confused tilt of his head, “I've always wanted to see the marvelous architecture of Treno.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up for a half-moment and he snorted softly. “Yeah,” he said because he had to say something in response. “It's certainly that.”

The rest of the cable car trip was quiet; his answer seemed to content her enough not to warrant any other conversation, and he was fine with that. It was only another hour or so to the Aerbs Alexandria Station, and he spent it with his eyes out the window again. After a little while, he stopped tracking the time and simply watched the scrolling mountainside. South Gate loomed behind the car, and if he twisted just so he could see the damages done to the giant structure by the airship crash he'd heard about. Now that they were well past the Gate, the countryside splayed out in either direction below them during the slight descent from the top of the peak South Gate was built over. It was the lowest summit on the southern ridge of the range, and even so it had been a hefty undertaking to build both the Berkmea cable cars, their tracks and mechanisms, and later, South Gate itself towering over the cable car tracks like a colossus. He leaned closer to the window to watch as the rocky slope at the feet of the Aerbs gave way to a small expanse of grass before dropping off into lowlands so far below them. It wasn't long before the station came into view, the thick cable clicking louder and heralding the car's return to its massive winch.

Absently, he ran a rough thumb under his baldric, the underside of it smoothed from years of use and worrying. It was comforting, the warm, worn feel of his leather. He hoped the supersoft was in Treno and he could stop chasing fruitless leads and finally do something to help Blank.

The cable car slowed and came to a halt, mist fulminating from vents in the large winch housed in the half-exposed mechanism room as the conductor eased the tram into place at the station. Marcus stood, alongside Dagger, and they made their way after Steiner out of the car.

“Take care,” the conductor said as they passed him. “ The road splits up ahead; go right to reach Treno, and left to reach Dali.”

Dagger thanked him as she stepped down with care onto the platform, followed closely by Marcus.

“Do you know the way to Treno?” he asked her as they caught up with Steiner down the stairs leading out of the station.

She gave him a somewhat sheepish glance from over her shoulder. “Right at the split,” she echoed. He shook his head.

“It is good you're tagging along with me,” he groused, “if that's your sense of direction.”

A soft laugh left her, getting Steiner's attention enough for him to give Marcus a wary look as if he'd done something wrong. Marcus briefly flashed a grin that showed his wolfteeth.

“Time enough to get moving,” he said, shouldering past the knight toward the exit archway.

Dagger and Steiner lingered a moment inside the station and shared a few low words he didn't quite catch—and didn't try to—before following him. A short walk down another set of stairs, roughly hewn compared to the clean cut ones inside, led them down to an open courtyard where the midday sun gave a warmth to even the old cobblestone path before them.

“It looks so disused,” Dagger noted with a touch of dismay hidden beneath the words, her strides bringing her in tandem for a moment with Marcus' longer ones. He nodded.

“The footpaths and cable cars aren't used much anymore, since airship travel is easier to come by. But it looked like some damage was done to South Gate as we passed it,” he noted, acting as if his attention was on a moss-covered statue up ahead to hide his oblique observance of their reactions. “Perhaps the footpaths will see more traffic until it's repaired.”

Dagger exchanged a quick glance with Steiner that confirmed his niggling suspicion that they'd somehow been involved with the South Gate incident. Before he parted ways, he'd overheard Baku and one of his various informants discussing some very curious topics regarding the princess, and South Gate had been one of them. The silent looks that passed between her and her knight seemed to fit the bill as proof enough to Marcus.

Walking ahead, Dagger reached the statue first, her hand trailing over the moss as she rounded it to read the plaque on the front.

“ 'To Dali',” she read as he and Steiner stopped on either side of her. “ 'Do not vandalize the farm'. I guess they have trouble with that.”

“It seemed too small a farm to do much vandalizing,” Steiner remarked blandly.

“You've been to Dali?” A quick tilt brought his head angled sharply toward her, eyes following Dagger's hands on the statue, absently roaming.

“After we escaped the Evil Forest,” she answered, reserved, “we ended up in Dali. It seemed such a small, quiet town...”

A small wrinkle of pain creased across her brow, an ember of anger catching in the amber light of her eyes, both fading almost as quickly as they had formed though they did not escape his notice.

“Princess,” Steiner said, a note away from reproach, stepping between his ward and Marcus. Beneath his bandana, his brow knit. What had happened there? He let yet another question take root with the others in the back of his throat; patience had always been one of his virtues, and he was content to let the story of that missing act play out as it would in its own time.

To break the heaviness settled on them, he meandered over, past the opposite plaque so old now it was devoid of a statue to hold it, to a large bronzed placard next to a bubbling well with a broken wood rail that once boxed it in.

“ 'No amount of hardship can tear our two countries apart'.” As soon as he spoke, the rumble of his voice seemed too loud for this quiet moment held in the sunlight. But that was what he wanted, this time.

“Cid VIII.” Dagger's voice came from close behind him, and he looked to find her at his side. “He's the one that built the Berkmea cable cars.”

“And developed the first mist engine.” Hearing the ease back in her voice, a spool slowly unwound in him, one he hadn't known was so tight after seeing the hurt on her face a few minutes before.

Behind them, Steiner cleared his throat. “As nice a repose as this is, shouldn't we be moving on?” Marcus took note of the veiled glare in his direction.

“Right,” Dagger agreed. “On to Treno.” She led them past the broken statue designating the path toward the city, casting only a shadow of a glance back to the opposite road where Dali lay.

The cobblestone path gave way to a dirt one, heavily grooved and tamped by years of travelers' boots. Around a sharp corner the path was cleft by a relatively short but deep crevice, connected to itself on the other side only by an old, decrepit bridge.

“I am not sure I trust that,” Steiner complained as they all stood at one end. “Are there no other ways across?”

“Not unless you've recently acquired the ability to fly,” Marcus replied, and was unmoved by the scathing look he received in return.

“I think it'll support our weight,” Dagger interjected, inspecting the bridge. “From here at least, it looks like just the top planks are broken, but the supports are all still intact.”

“We hope,” Marcus couldn't help but add with just enough of a touch of dark undertone to be ominous, coupled with a sidelong look as flat as a stone wall to Steiner over his shoulder. It was worth it to see the Pluto captain's face pale a shade.

“Marcus,” Dagger said abruptly, a scold sharpening her tone, though with a thread of amusement. “Don't tease him.”

The red that crawled up Steiner's neck immediately was probably both anger and embarrassment, Marcus decided with a wicked smile. “Why, you scoundrel—” The knight started toward him.

“ _Gentlemen_.” Dagger put herself between them, hands level with their chests. “Let's fight after we get on the way past the gate, hm?”

“... As you would, Princess. But he is swiftly becoming insufferable.” Steiner backed down, but Marcus could only grin.

“Too bad I'm also incredibly useful,” he drawled, arms folding loose over his chest.

The knight grunted. “We shall see.” Turning his back to the Tantalus performer, Steiner gave the bridge his undivided attention. “First, crossing to the other side.” Steeling himself with a loud breath drawn in his nose, Steiner nodded to his ward and let out a short cry as he sprinted across the old wood, leaping over the crumbling gap in the walkway planks to land heavily on the other side, sending a frightening shudder through the rest of the structure. Dagger winced and even Marcus clenched his teeth.

“Well, it would probably support our weight unless somebody jumped on it wearing plate,” amended Marcus dryly, but as they watched, Steiner kept his balance on the groaning bridge—which held despite all abuses—and made it across to the other side.

He faced them, triumphant, relief etched plainly over his face. “Best to just get it done and over with,” he advised them, the bright quip in his voice one of someone who'd just danced a hair's breadth out of reach of death's blade.

“First sensible thing you've said yet,” Marcus agreed and without any other preamble, quickly made his way over the bridge in a narrow, straight line until he reached the gap. Not slowing to think too much about how he should clear it, his leap took him clear of danger, but landed him much closer to the broken edge, however more nimbly than Steiner. The bridge shuddered again under the heavy impact of his boots.

Without moving off the bridge, he edged away from the gap, spinning slowly to preserve his footing and face Dagger. “Need help?”

She made her way out to the break on light feet, craning her neck to peer at it from a shorter distance. Eyebrows arched up, she considered. “I can make it.”

He nodded and slid his stance backward to give her room, though he remained on the bridge itself.

Backing up a few paces, Dagger broke into a jog to provide momentum enough to breach the gap. As she landed, the old wood decided that was the final strain it wanted to take on its still-intact joists and the top plank beneath her boots cracked along the grain with a quick-reaching sliver and a sharp gasp whisking away the breath from her lungs.

Marcus moved instantly almost as soon as her hands flew up to try and catch herself, Steiner calling out in dismay somewhere behind him. Strong hands flashed out to grab her before she pitched off the side, his fingers enclosing around her shoulders even as her hands found purchase around his forearms and he pulled her up with brute strength, mid-fall. Her direction altered so suddenly, she collided into him solidly, forcing both a grunt and a step back to steady them both.

Steiner shouted again, but Marcus wasn't paying attention to what it was. His heart thudded against his ribs and Dagger looked up at him.

“You okay?” he asked, and received a wordless nod in return before she found her voice again.

"Thank you,” she said and straightened without a tremor running its course through her.

There was the echo of a quiet roar somewhere in the back of his hearing, and he hesitated a breath before saying anything more.

“Princess!” Steiner repeated loudly, and Marcus swallowed down whatever words might have escaped. “Unhand her this instant and get off that damned forsaken excuse of a bridge!”

All at once acutely aware of his hands still on her, her fingers still resting on his arms, he backed away. Marcus turned and strode off the rest of the bridge, Dagger at his heels. As soon as her feet touched solid ground again, Steiner shoved past Marcus to get to her.

“Are you all right?” His face was a knot of worry, his hands raised as if he anticipated he'd need to carry her after such an ordeal.

She nodded her head. “I'm fine, thank you. Just a little slip is all.” Frowning and ignoring Steiner trying to protest her offhandedness of what had happened, she cast a look back to the bridge. “I feel bad just leaving without fixing the gap. Other people need to come this way, as well.”

“There's not much we can do,” Marcus began.

“She's right,” Steiner interrupted. “It is a treacherous path, and it must be mended.” Tapping a fist into his opposite palm, the knight sent Marcus a disparaging look. “If our brigand companion can find the time to spare.”

Corners of his mouth turning down, Marcus felt the smoke of anger rise in his throat before he could push it away. “Do you have time to find a suitable tree to make a new plank from and the tools to secure it to the others that wouldn't give a false sense of security only to slip anyway under the wrong angle of a step? Because I don't have any of those things.” He hadn't meant to allow that much venom lash out in his words, but something about the knight's tone and look—no, it wasn't Steiner's fault, Marcus grudgingly admitted. It was the frustration of agreement to every word and sentiment, of wanting to do more but not being able to, of watching it nearly happen to Dagger.

Tacitly, Dagger asked, “Well, what can we do, if not that? There must be something.”

Marcus shook his head, more to clear it than anything else. “Tell the Gate guards once we get there. The station should have repair crews, or maybe the gatehouse does. It's their job to maintain the footpaths, after all.”

She fell silent for a few breaths, eyes on the ground, considering his words. Finally, she nodded. “That's what we'll do, then. Come on.”

The path they followed wound gently along a shallow dirt groove that was rimmed with stones, though many of them seemed to missing by the alignment of those that remained. Scraggly trees and bushes clung to the rocks and hard clay earth, but it was by no means an unpleasant walk. They'd arrived at the cable car station just after midday, and the sun had taken the time to warm the thinner air here at least somewhat. After a little while, they descended down a mild slope, and the Gate came into view. It lay at the foot of the small decline, a green sea of plains stretched out behind it into the distance, with the mountains rising up to the south.

“There's the Gate,” Dagger said, he supposed more for something to break the silence than that there was a chance any of them might have missed it. She trotted ahead of the two flanking her, her step lighter now that a destination was in sight.

“Eager to help,” Marcus remarked.

“The princess has always been so,” came Steiner's unanticipated, brusque reply. “If she is to be loved by her people one day, it is a good thing to be.”

Marcus ignored the chilly tone behind his words. “Or a dangerous one, if she stays as trusting.”

“If you plan anything devious—”

“Take it easy. I don't have anything up my sleeve. I was just making conversation.” Marcus picked up his pace a touch to break stride with the knight, following more closely the dark swinging hair of the girl in front of them.

It did not take long to reach the bottom where the cobblestones met them again. When Steiner and Marcus closed the gap between them and Dagger, she went up to the guard standing by the raised gate.

“Good afternoon,” she called out politely, receiving a nod from the guard in return. “We're headed to Treno, but you need to know the bridge up this hill has a rather large hole in it. It needs immediate repair or somebody might fall through.”

The guard exchanged a look back to his fellow in the house. “We'll notify the station crew, thank you. There haven't been many people who come this way to let us know about things like that.” He eyed Marcus and Steiner. “You said you were headed to Treno? That's only a short distance from here. Sightseeing?”

Steiner was about to open his mouth—for his foot, most likely, thought Marcus—when Dagger chimed in brightly. “Oh, yes! I've always wanted to see its architecture, you know. You hear so many wonderful things about it.”

He words were so sincere, her voice smooth as an uninterrupted stream, that Marcus had to stop himself from giving her an appreciative smile. It was certainly more than good enough for the guard to take at face value.

“Well, you should be careful on the way. We haven't had much help in patrolling the area lately, so there might be dangerous creatures about. But,” he went on, “you seem like you should be fine. Now all I need to see is your Gate Pass.” The guard waited as Dagger fished into one of her pouches for the slip of paper to hand him. Once procured, he scanned it. “Everything looks to be in order.” After returning it to her, he pivoted to look back at his fellow inside the gatehouse. “Hey, will you lower the gate for these folks?”

The other guard said something that was muffled through the narrow window, but soon the heavy dragging of thick chains and metal winches grinding into motion heralded the slow, steady sinking of the Gate into its worn grooves in the ground.

“Be careful out there,” the guard warned them again after the Gate was lowered.

“Thanks—we will.” Dagger lifted a hand in farewell to him as they exited through the opening.

Once they were clear of the Gate, the guards raised it back up, ending with an echoing clang as the portcullis locked back into place. Dagger glanced back at it as Marcus squinted up at the sky.

“Maybe three more hours of light before we should make camp for the night,” he estimated, lowering his gaze to Steiner. “Tell me you've got supplies for a while?”

The Pluto knight captain chewed on the inside of his cheek in thought. “A few days is what we accounted for. Not,” he added hastily, “including you.”

Marcus waved a dismissive hand. “I've got my own. I meant for the two of you. If you've got a few days, it should be fine.” If they could make it to the halfway point, he wouldn't need to worry about foraging for food for them, or stretching his modest rations.

They all fell into a rhythm behind Dagger, who headed along a path through the plains grasses, though this one was much less worn and more lightly tamped than the footpath from the station to the Gate. The wind kept a steady breeze rifling through their clothing and hair, and brought the smell of the sea from beyond the Aerbs to Marcus. He allowed himself a brief moment to close his eyes and breathe deep, the hint of crisp tang of salt on the air comforting. The wind passed and he opened his eyes again to watch Dagger for a while.

“That was some good improvising back there,” he said.

“Is that a compliment I hear?” Her tone was teasing and drew a short laugh from his chest.

“You could take it as one, yes. Bit of an improvement from the last time, too.”

Mocking mortification, Dagger spun around and walked backwards to watch him. “Considering that was my first public performance, I should think I did rather well last time.”

He couldn't resist grinning—a rakish thing that split his face just so. “Keep practicing and maybe one day you really could act alongside me.”

Laughing in earnest, she whirled forward again and left Marcus to wonder if everyone who heard her felt a warmth spreading through them at the sound.

The next few hours spent walking under the sun, with the clean air of the mountains filling his lungs, he was almost able to forget for a time the sobering quest that lay before him once they arrived to Treno. Even Steiner was not as dour toward him, and spoke amicably of swordplay and the history of the mountains with Dagger. Marking the sun's path toward the edge of the horizon, Marcus scouted around ahead of the two of them for a likely camping spot. There was no real cover, though the grasses grew taller the further along they went. He knew at some point the path vanished entirely out of disuse and a lack of patrols to maintain its presence between the Gate all the way to Treno, but figured they had another day or so before they lost its guidance.

Halting on a small rise out of the mostly flat plateau top, Marcus fingered into an old leather map canister for a rough, hand-drawn one of the southern Aerbs. Holding it more or less open against the wind, he traced their path from the Gate along the curve of the plateau to where he was fairly certain they were, alternating deciphering the little marks on the map and scanning to find them around him.

“What's that?” Dagger asked from his elbow, peering up at the rough parchment in his hands.

“Hopefully something that will help us find the best place to—ah, there. Camp.” Rolling it back up deftly, he slipped the map back into its canister and screwed the top back on, eyes fixed on a dark spot a little ways ahead of them. “See that?” He pointed to it and she followed the length of his arm with her gaze. “That should be a little stone ridge we can shelter from the wind for a night. It's got a nice corner to it that makes it decently defensible in a bind, too.”

He strode down off the rise and she waved Steiner over as Marcus led them toward the ridge. It faced northeast, and so the late afternoon sun had already cast it in shadow. By the time they reached it, the sun was sunk well below the tops of the Aerbs, though not yet beneath the curve of the world enough for true night to settle in.

“Most of the wind comes off the ocean to the south,” Marcus explained as Steiner eyed the shadowy ridge. “So we can have a fire without worrying that it'll get picked up and set the whole plains aflame.”

He busied himself with digging a shallow pit within the hollow nook the jutting rocks of the ridge formed, Steiner worked on assembling his and Dagger's tents for the evening on one side of the ridge, and Dagger set about gathering the largest grass stems she could find in the dying light. She'd collected more than a few handfuls that he estimated would give them a decent enough fire by the time Marcus' pit was ready, and he struck flint over a pile of dried stems until they caught the spark. He left Steiner to tend the fire while he pitched his own simple tent, opposite theirs. Once that was secured and the fire stoked and managed, they enjoyed a welcome supper to the quiet crackling of the flames and the evening song of the winds. He couldn't think of much to say that evening, and neither Steiner nor Dagger were forthcoming with conversation while they ate. She sat for a while, pensive, resting back on her arms and watching the stars come out of the darkening sky, but it wasn't too long before Dagger excused herself to ready for sleep, and vanished into her tent for the night. Steiner stood by the edge of their small encampment for a while, watching the moon rise, before turning back to Marcus, who was spending the time sharpening his blackened falcata.

“Perhaps you do have some redeeming qualities, rogue,” the knight said to him, with a curt nod. Marcus ran his whetstone along the blade's edge and nodded in return.

“You might, too.”


	3. Chapter Three

Grey, chill light filtered through the clouds before the sun rose when he left his tent, a quick glance confirming he was alone in waking. Breath fogging faint before him, it was carried away by a breeze that also sifted through his short, dark hair, freed from the confines of his bandanna. He hadn't bothered to put it on, going instead to the shallow pit he'd dug for their fire the night before. Only a few embers glowed, though he could still feel a heat from the rest of the remains as he crouched, taking a moment to stir through the ashes with a long narrow stalk. The plains grass caught fire easy enough, but it burned quick and left no charcoal that he could use to coax out more flames.

It was just as well, he decided, standing and stretching his arms above his head. No sounds of stirring yet came from either Steiner or Dagger's tents, giving him the opportunity to take advantage of the early morning as he pleased.

A light jog took him outside the edge of the stony ridge that sheltered them; Marcus took care to go far enough away that he wouldn't wake his traveling companions while still keeping the encampment in his line of sight. Once satisfied with the distance, he rolled his neck from one shoulder to the other, trying to shrug out the stiffness of a night spent on the ground. With his back to the east, the bottoms of the clouds already burnishing with golds and coppers, Marcus eased into motion, dancing lightly from foot to foot. When he felt warmed up enough, he raised his fists close before him, eyes fixing on an arbitrary point ahead.

Darting forward and back to set his pace, his hands flashed out, striking at nothing. Controlled exhales came in tandem with his hands, and he took time in building up his speed so that his fists were flashes in the air. Find the edge of what you can push to, then strain a little more than that. Cross and hook and back, straight and forward, uppercut and slide to the side. Ducking and weaving around nothing, he utilized the open space of the plains to circle around his chosen point, up on the balls of his feet to add challenge to the rest of his practice. Lost in the concentration of being in constant movement and breathing past the growing burn in his lungs and in his muscles, he did not track how long he'd been at it. By the time he gained a shadow on the ground from the sunrise proper, a coat of sweat covered him, made his undertunic cling to his back and chest.

When he stopped, breath heavy, he made conscious effort to slow his breathing and envisioned the air he drew in through his nose went all the way down to the bottom of his lungs, filling them entirely before he exhaled out his mouth; he repeated this until his heart calmed. Then, moving along with his breath, he stretched his arms above his head and lifted his chin to the sky, arching his back to stretch out all the muscles in his sides before folding the other way until his fingers brushed the dirt beneath his feet.

Coming upright and hands moving to his hips, with a soft grunt he twisted from one side to the other, feeling with satisfaction the minute pops along his spine. The wind picked up again and he breathed deep, relishing the coolness over his skin, while the sun steadily rose over the edge of the mountains, lightening the sky from night to wakening day as it went. After he finished his stretches, he gazed out at the mountains hiding the edges of the sea in the new light, feeling the familiar pull in his bones, but then looked at the sheltering ridge, saw Dagger and Steiner moving about the small camp, and so headed back.

“What were you doing up so early?” At his arrival, the Pluto Captain tilted his head the barest bit, his eyes narrowed and one eyebrow raised.

“Fighting shadows,” Marcus replied, clipped and irritated that Steiner would start the day with suspicion.

The raised eyebrow lowered with its fellow beneath questioning lines, and it was clear Steiner did not understand. “Shadows? Are they some sort of dangerous shade out here?”

Nearby him, Dagger hid a laugh behind her hand. “I think he was just practicing, not fighting an actual enemy.”

Marcus cocked a finger to her. “Trust me, if there were a real fight, I would have woken you.” He stripped off his undertunic, darkened with sweat, and turned his back to them to pull a cleaner one from his pack. All his clothing needed a good soaking—the last time he'd been able to wash them had been before getting on the tram to Summit Station. They'd all three be a bit ripe by the time they reached Treno, but at least there the city had plenty of washers. He fingered a growing tear in his tunic's left breast and listed the different washers he knew that also did repairs through his mind.

“How dare you expose yourself while the Princess is nearby!” Steiner explained, and Marcus rolled his eyes, turning with shirt in hand, some sardonic remark already on the edge of his tongue.

“Steiner, I'm not a little girl anymore,” Dagger chastised him, amused, before Marcus could say anything. Her gaze lingered on him as Steiner grumbled something, but then her eyes flicked down to his hands. “Is that a tear? I can fix it for you if you have a needle and thread.”

“ _You_ could fix it?” Marcus repeated, eyebrows lifting and disbelief clear in his tone.

She furrowed her brow at him, pursed her lips. “Yes, me. I am quite adept at needlework, and if I can embroider a replica of Alexandria Castle, I can certainly mend a hole in a shirt.”

Marcus dipped his head and shoulders in a show of defeat. “Forgive this lowly soul, princess,” he drawled and she threw a withering look at him.

“Just give it to me to mend.”

Straightening, he shook his head. “I don't have any thread with me. Don't worry about it,” he went on, tugging the shirt over his shoulders. “It's just a small tear, and we should get moving, anyway.” He gave her his back again to fish out his bandanna, tying it back in place.

After buckling and strapping on their traveling gear for the day, they packed up their small camp; Marcus finished before the others, rolling his tent up tightly, then buried the remains of the fire. He wasn't worried about the camp being discovered—had no reason to think anyone was following them—it was more out of not wanting any embers to be lifted out by some stray wind and igniting the vast grassland around them.

Once they were finished, Marcus led them back to the dirt path that wound its languid way, an earthen serpent, through the waist-high grasses.

“Will this lead us all the way to Treno?” Dagger strayed by his side and watched the sky as they walked.

Marcus adjusted the thick baldric across his chest and replied absently, “No, it drops off in a little while.”

“Drops off?” Steiner cut in, worried. “As in off a cliff?”

“What? No, of course not. The only cliffs are to the north of us. This path just fades away. People haven't used it for a while—you saw the state of the one between the station and the gate.” He didn't look behind as he spoke, his eyes on the curve of the horizon before him.

“You are sure you know where you are going, even without a path to follow?”

“A bit late to be questioning that, isn't it? But,” Marcus went on before he could be interrupted, “yes, I am sure. We've got the Aerbs to our right and the cliffs to our left, so it's not exactly a maze we need to figure out. Besides, I do have a map.” He tapped the canister hanging from his belt.

“Oh, right,” said Steiner. “Good, then.”

Now Marcus did give them a slanted glance over his shoulder. “Weren't you two planning on going to Alexandria, anyway? How were you going to get there if not going through Treno?”

“We were hoping for a more direct route,” Dagger explained, a somewhat sheepish note to her words.

“Well, I haven't seen a much more direct route to Alexandria besides an airship, so if you've got one of those stashed anywhere...” Marcus stretched his arms behind his head, elbows pointed toward the sky as he walked. He was still stiff from the ground, but half the reason for the morning exercise was to help the kinks out of his muscles, and they would loosen more as the day went on.

“Have you done much traveling?” Dagger's voice brought his attention back and he lowered his arms.

“Some would say so,” he replied.

“I know you said you've been to Treno before, performing—” He could hear the admiration and curiosity entwining through her voice— “and obviously you have been to Alexandria and Lindblum, but have you been anywhere else?” She quickened her pace until she walked with him, matching the speed of her strides to his longer ones.

He watched the clouds drift swift across the morning sky above them, as if with some greater purpose, before answering her. “I've been to Burmecia,” he said at length, taking care to keep the brittle grief cradling his memories of that place out of his voice. “Been to little towns all in-between the cities, whose names you'd never know—Albrook, Carwen, Tule, Baren, Torna, Tozus. Dali, too, a few times, years ago.” The grasses shimmered in the wind, and he smelled the sea from his memory. “Sometimes I went sailing along the coast and hopped around the ports,” he found himself telling her.

“With Tantalus the whole time?” Dagger's eyes were bright in the morning light, watching.

“Not every time.” He shrugged, packing the memories back up before he took out too many. “I went off on my own quite a bit, too.” Flash a grin to cover old scars. “Life of a young rogue, and all that.”

Behind them, Steiner huffed loud his disapproval. She ignored her knight protector and squinted closely at Marcus, startling him enough to sidestep a little.

“You don't appear to be so old to me,” she told him, hints of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

“I never said I was.” Motioning back to Steiner with a shift of his head, he added, “Certainly not as old as your Pluto Captain there—”

“I _can_ hear you, and I am not too old to fight you,” the knight said sharply.

“Just teasing, both of you,” Dagger cut in. “It really doesn't matter anyway.”

“You seem older than just having had your sixteenth birthday,” Marcus noted, pulling her attention back to him.

“The Princess,” Steiner interjected, stressing her title, “has always been mature for her age, even when she was younger.” A shallow furrow ran across Dagger's brow, and Marcus wondered at it. A sore subject, perhaps?

He cleared his throat and picked up his pace again, forcing the other two to lag behind or catch up.

“It doesn't matter,” he echoed her earlier sentiment. “Sometimes age is just a number people assign you.”

“It's inappropriate to ask a princess's age, anyhow.” Dagger's voice came from beside him again, and he spared her a look in time to see a quick wink from her before she clasped her hands behind her back and turned her attention to the remaining path ahead.

He caught the quip before it flew from his mouth, biting down on the words of banter that wanted to play off hers— _if she thought that was inappropriate, he could certainly show her a few other things—_ and exhaled them instead.

After a while, they fell into a loose, staggered line, Dagger leading them with a soft hum that drifted back to Marcus, off to one side behind her, alternating his gaze from the edge of the plateau that lead to the lowlands that sprawled the length between the southern Aerbs and Alexandria, and the easterly path ahead. Steiner took up the rear of the small group, quiet in his own thoughts as the sun climbed the sky. Though it looked as if the day should warm, the altitude of the plateau and the persistent wind traveling with them made it chillier than not. The year was well on its way to spring in the lowlands, but the edges of winter still clung to the mountains, even if the only snow was on the peaks. Even so, Marcus could smell the hints of spring trying to push up through the ground, and knew in a few weeks the grassland would be dotted with flowers as far as any traveler could see. For their passage, only the winter grasses kept them company, the new shoots still burrowed in the ground or within thicker parent stalks, awaiting the arrival of warmer weather.

Dagger halted them for lunch a little after the sun passed its zenith, sharing dried strips of meat, a small pouch of nuts, and some sun-dried berries with Steiner. Marcus's own fare was not much different, and he enjoyed the heat of the spices flecked over his meat, quiet and absent in his thoughts.

Traveling with them was not proving as unpleasant as he'd initially feared—but, he reminded himself as he brushed his hands free of crumbs, it had only been a day. Not that he had much choice in the matter, aside from stealing away in the dead of night with the hope he'd get far enough ahead that they wouldn't simply spot him. No, separating was not an option. Movement caught his eye and he turned his head to see Dagger standing and stretching, the orange of her overalls a flame amid the shivering plains grasses. She caught him watching and smiled.

Marcus got to his feet as well, sensing their brief rest was over, and as they regrouped to continue he had to admit Dagger made traveling with her overly stiff knight captain more bearable.

There were worse companions, he decided as she took the lead again. Turning his attention skyward, he marked the arc of the sun and the drift of the clouds. Despite the constant companion the wind was on the plains with them, it barely shifted the clouds in the sky. A good day for sailing, he thought. Winds for the canvas, but quiet higher in the skies, bode well for a day free from storms.

A now-familiar scent wafted like gossamer just beneath his nose—that sweetness threaded with a mint he suspected came from magic. The memory of coolness creeping through his arms as healing magic mended his skin brought the mint taste back to his tongue. Wetting his lips with the tingle still there, he enjoyed her quiet presence near him as he walked.

"You're rather quiet,” Dagger commented at length.

Marcus didn't look down at her. “Don't feel the need to talk all the time."

“We'll be traveling together for a while,” she continued.

“Only a few days,” Marcus corrected, feeling the sharp edge of her look rather than seeing it.

“Have you made this trip before?” That wasn't the question on her mind, Marcus suspected, but he chose not to guess at what was.

Chewing the inside of his cheek before answering, he said, “Not for many years. Most trips to Treno—or towns and cities in general—were by airship.”

Out of the corner of his vision, she nodded, in thought. “You said before you've sailed along the coast?”

Curious, he cast her a look. “Why do you want to know?”

The curve of her cheekbones softened and raised, and she turned her head to look away from him, clasping her hands behind her back.

“I bet you have a lot of interesting stories,” she said. “I've never been sailing along any coast, or hiking along old worn paths—not before all this.”

A suspicion wormed into the back of his mind; her words were no lie, but Marcus could smell there was more she left unsaid. More questions formed in his throat, but he did not ask them. He was under the impression guilt drove her to want to help him so badly, but now he suddenly felt unsure. What were her other motives?

“Something is up ahead!” Steiner broke through Marcus's thoughts and their conversation.

Attention snapping from Dagger to the plains ahead, Marcus saw several dark shapes churning just above the tops of the grasses, but it was difficult to discern what they were or even how many were coming toward them—and coming they were, at an alarming pace.

“What are they?” Dagger, he noticed, moved quickly to prepare herself, long racket already held in her hands.

Marcus drew his falcata, blackened blade catching his eye again, and silently prayed the metal would hold in a fight.

“Does it matter? They're trouble,” he replied. Steiner came up next to him with a sharp look on his face—one Marcus knew too well. The Tantalus man grabbed hold of the knight's arm before he could charge ahead.

At Steiner's irritated glance back, Marcus shook his head. “Save your energy, let them come to us. I can't tell how many there are.”

“Perhaps they'll avoid us entirely,” Dagger suggested, though the apprehension laced through her tone sounded as if she didn't expect that to happen.

The shapes drew closer, dark and propelling like the pistons of a mist engine, until they were close enough that Marcus could hear them clearly—chittering, scuttling noises that were only partially from the heavy, disturbed rustling of grass stalks.

“No such luck,” he drawled, widening his stance and rotating his falcata in anticipation, turning it over his wrist in an absent, practiced motion.

All at once, two spider-like creatures with legs twice as long as Marcus was tall erupted from the grasses onto the wide path in front of them. Clicks filled the air between the creatures, with a shrill tone nestled somewhere in the back of those clicks on a pitch that made Marcus's head hurt.

“And I thought that black mage hit a bad note,” Marcus grated around a wince.

“What are you talking about?” Steiner asked, then shook his head. “Nevermind. We must concentrate on defeating these monsters.”

Marcus felt a warmth settle over him, blocking the wind for a moment, which he recognized now as the feel of the magic Dagger cast—an intangible layer over his skin.

In thanks, he spun his falcata again and lunged at the closest creature, hoping to surprise it with the quickness of his feet and was rewarded by cutting deep into the hairy flesh of one of its legs. As he skirted back out of reach, he caught a clear look of its head, nestled behind two smaller protective limbs, with fang-like mandibles as big as his forearm and more eyes than he could count with only a glance.

At least they didn't look as if they'd electrocute him, though they did move more quickly than the last opponent Marcus had faced with the princess and her knight; he watched as the companion spider to the one he'd struck scuttled around to Steiner and nearly knocked the armored man off his feet with the sharp end of a long front leg. The fact that Steiner was lucky enough to have the protection of steel over his chest did not escape him, and so Marcus's eyes now tracked those front legs. He'd have to rely on his own reflexes to save him—Dagger's protective magic felt warm, but he wasn't entirely certain it'd save him from getting a hole in his lung.

The creature he faced lurched at him, but immediately faltered as it put weight on its wounded leg, giving Marcus ample time to evade. Darting to the injured side, he swung his blade again, catching another leg. His cut wasn't as deep as the first, but it angled across a knobby joint and the creature emitted a shrill chittering. Marcus clenched his teeth against the noise as both he and the creature retreated from one another. To his left, he heard Steiner shout, followed soon after by a clumsy scuffling and painful clicking that told Marcus the knight had also caused some damage.

Redirecting his attention back to the wounded spider before him, Marcus shifted his grip. These things might be quick, but they seemed easy to bring down. Wait for the right moment, then sprint and get in. Marcus was quicker than the front legs and their deadly points, skidding across the dusty path beneath the head of the creature with his falcata up and biting deep into soft underbelly. The thing writhed and shrieked above him, and he rolled out from under the lashing legs only to grasp at his head with a free hand. The dying scream of the creature cut right through his skull, clattering between his ears and making it feel as if it would split.

Coming to a crouch a few feet away, Marcus watched the creature's intact legs curl up as it died, an immense version of the tiny look-alikes most people only worried about shooing out of their houses. Steiner struck his own killing blow, slicing a leg clean through and practically severing its abdomen in half. Half-clattering, half-screeching, the last sounds the second creature made were just as piercing as the first's, and made Marcus's teeth throb. Leaning on the falcata, point wedged haphazardly in the ground, he clutched his forehead with his free hand until the sound petered out, the creature finally dead.

One breath in, then one out—wait for the throb in his skull to subside before lowering his hand. Dagger was already jogging over to him, her dark eyebrows steepled above worried amber eyes.

“Where are you hurt?” she asked him, breathless, as soon as she was near enough.

He shook his head and stood, shaky, tugging his falcata out of the ground. “Nowhere—I'm fine.”

As he spoke, he watched her concern ease into confusion. “But, the way you were holding your head...?”

For whatever reason, he felt slender fingers of heat creep up his neck, but he couldn't tell if he were more embarrassed that he'd clutched his head enough to worry her, or that she was so worried in the first place.

“Ah,” he began, then cleared his throat. “It's just that the pitch those creatures were making didn't agree with my head.”

“Pitch?” Steiner came up behind his princess, wiping blood from his blade. “What are you talking about? All they did was make clicking sounds the whole time.” He slid his sword back into its sheath.

Marcus looked at him as he was reminded again that they were no different than everyone else in not hearing all that he could, before nodding, the motion small and controlled. “Right,” was all he said, turning his attention to his own blade, cleaning it and then sheathing it. “Let's not linger to see if they have friends.”

Walking past the curious look Dagger gave him, Marcus started down the path without waiting to make sure they followed. Where else would they go, except the same way?

He'd gotten quite a bit ahead of them when he heard—and felt—another shrill noise come from his immediate right, and a third spider-like creature burst from the tall grasses, barreling down upon him. It collided solidly into his side and bowled him over completely, which in turn he used to his advantage, continuing the scrambling roll with the weight of his momentum even as he fumbled to grasp his sword. Luck was not with him, and as soon as he drew the blade free, a blurred strike from one of its legs knocked it from his hand, sending his falcata flying and lost in the grasses.

“Damn!” he swore, both hands grabbing and immediately struggling to keep the two foremost limbs—the ones with the deadly sharp ends—from skewering him. He straddled the creature now, doing his best to pin what he could down with his legs and own weight—all of which proved to be of no avail as the creature used extra legs that Marcus could not control to heave itself overtop him.

A guttural shout tore free from his throat—not of help, but of instinct—and he struggled against the creature, the brute strength in his arms the only thing keeping him alive. He had to do something quickly, and soon—a dagger was strapped to the back of his belt, and if he could get that free...

Wrestling against the creature was taxing him, but a quick battle-blood decision took hold before his arms gave out. Time slowed for him just enough to shove the creature away with a burst of strength from somewhere and he rolled on his side to grab for his knife. He didn't recall feeling his fingers close around anything, but then the dagger was in his hand and buried into the creature above him up to the hilt. It was thrust into the paler underbelly of the creature's abdomen and Marcus gripped tighter, desperate to keep hold of his dagger amid thrashing that swiftly changed from struggling escape into death throes. This time, he could not afford to cover his ears or hold his head against the grating screeching it emitted—his proximity to the noise, combined with the foul stench of its innards oozing around his dagger blade, sent a bolt of nausea straight into his gut like a rod.

Once the creature grew still, Marcus braced his boots against it and strained, hands still around his dagger, until he forced both his blade free and the creature off him. The battle-rush left him all at once and he collapsed the few spans back onto the ground, chest heaving and arms spread out, the dagger bouncing out of his fingers and onto the dirt.

Both Dagger and Steiner ran to him; he could hear their boots thudding hard on the dirt path. She fell to her knees beside Marcus, fingertips already tinged with green but not knowing where to lay them.

“Where are you hurt?” she asked for the second time that day.

He shook his head and lifted one hand in a weary, vaguely waving motion. “ 'M fine. Just give a moment.” The hand fell to his chest, fingers finding the still-pounding heartbeat against his sternum. Closing his eyes, he counted the beats until he felt them slow. Dagger did not move; he smelled the faint mint of her magic hovering above him. A fair change from the creature just minutes ago, he decided, and felt a smile crack his face.

“Are you sure you're all right?” Dagger's worry brought him back and he opened his eyes.

In response, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, grunting softly. His head still pounded from the noises only he heard the creatures make, but he resisted bringing his hands to his temples. She rocked back a little to accommodate him.

“Yeah,” he repeated. “It didn't get me anywhere.” The thought that if he hadn't been as strong or as quick, he might be dead instead, run clean through, briefly flitted through his mind before he shoved it away. His stomach rolled again.

“We thought it had,” she went on, her eyes darkening beneath lines across her brow. It tugged at something along the bottom of his heart, and he had to quell the sudden strong urge to smooth the lines with his thumb.

“Hey,” he said, turning his back to her as he rolled to the side and pushed himself fully upright. He brushed some of the dust from his pants after he steadied on his feet and she rose beside him. “If I had a coin for every time I survived through a dangerous scrape like that, I could retire.” He turned to her and gave a half-smile, willing ease and nonchalance into his voice—at least the throbbing in his skull was beginning to diminish. “See? All in one piece.”

While Dagger scrutinized him, dubious, Steiner nodded.

“I must admit, you do have excellent fighting instincts,” he said, then added, as if an afterthought, “for a brigand.”

“Of course,” Marcus said, feeling his breathing finally calm back close to normal and his heart no longer railing against the confines of his chest. “I do have a reputation to maintain.” His eyes already shifted away, scanning the grass just along the trail. “That thing knocked my sword away—once I find it we should put some distance between us and all this.”

He tracked back over the disturbed earth of the path his scuffle left behind, trying to guess which way his falcata had gone. Opposite him, he heard Dagger and Steiner talking quietly as they searched. Treading slow, now off the path into the grasses proper, he slid his boots over the ground more than stepped with them, listening for the tough leather to connect with worked steel. Fortune came back to his side, for it was only a few minutes of searching before his boot nudged the hilt of his falcata. He scooped it up and returned to Dagger and Steiner, sheathing it as he went.

“I found it; let's go. We need to make up time, “ he told them brusquely, not stopping before skirting around the spider creature to continue down the path.

“Wait up!” Dagger surged immediately into a jog to catch up with him.

“Yes,” Steiner agreed. “Are we on some sort of schedule you've neglected to tell us?”

“Also, you going ahead last time didn't go quite so well,” she added.

Marcus snorted. “I killed the thing with not a scratch—I think it went just fine. And yes, we are. My supplies are going to run low soon, so I know yours must be for the two of you, so we need to keep moving.” He didn't cast back the look he wanted, and instead turned his face to the easterly sky. “We have leagues to go before we can make camp for the night.”


	4. Intermission I

 

“I didn't realize Treno was so far away,” Dagger said, her eyes tracing the clouds as they dotted the sky. Before her, Marcus made a soft noise.

“About a week's travel on foot,” he answered, and she couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed by her. The lines beside her mouth tightened for a moment, but she did not look down at him.

“Four more days then,” Steiner, trailing behind her and minding the read guard for them, said.

“Five,” Marcus corrected, and Dagger lowered her gaze to the steady shifting of his shoulders as he walked.

“It's been three days since we left South Gate,” Steiner argued, and without glancing back at his face, she knew the exact furrows that drew across his brow. She'd been on the receiving end of those captious looks more than a few times in her youth. “That leaves four to arrive at a week's end. Unless you deceive us?”

A short laugh erupted from the Tantalus man who led them, and he stopped, twisting back to look at the Pluto Captain escorting her.

“Is that amusing, brigand?” She saw Steiner narrow his eyes, fingers twitching at his thigh, and she tensed automatically, ready to step between them again if she needed to.

“That you jump to accusing me with no provocation in the slightest? No, what amuses me is that such a  _grand_ knight—” Dagger winced a little at the disparaging dip in his voice— “would know so little about a neighboring city of his home.” The tug upward at one side of his mouth made it difficult for Dagger to tell if he was smirking or sneering, it was so sharp.

Steiner sputtered a moment through obvious rising anger while Marcus ignored him and turned back to the road ahead, continuing on his path toward the top of the hill before them.

“Now wait, you scoundrel—” Steiner set off after him, and Dagger jogged to keep up.

“It's unwise to enter Treno in the dead of night,” Marcus called without looking around, his voice carrying loud enough for them to clearly hear him over a rush of wind. “It may be the City of Never-Ending Night, but it has its own version of days, and we'll need to wait an extra night for one. Besides,” he went on as they caught up to him at the crest itself, and Dagger saw the promise of a sincere smile soften his face. “We've got an important stop along the way.”

She and Steiner followed his gaze down the gentle slope, the wind rolling through the grass as waves over the sea, until they saw a small huddle of roofs nestled in the crook of the hillock's base.

“I didn't know there was a town here,” Dagger said, taking a moment to glance up at Marcus.

He stood over a head taller than she, and for the first time since she had seen him on the cable car up the mountains, his jaw was relaxed.

“You know this place?” she asked, the soft spaces between her words coming as a surprise to her own ears.

The quick glance he gave her, past the broken hook of his nose, told her she'd startled him as well. For that instant, his face was unguarded and she felt her heart echo in her chest for a beat. Steiner upended the capricious pause between them.

“Seems a bit much, calling it a 'town'.”

Marcus' eyes steeled again and he looked away from her, giving her only the iron line of his jaw. “It's the only market between South Gate and Treno for those traveling unprepared,” he replied. “We'll need to resupply there if you want to make it to the city.”

Without waiting for a response of any kind, Marcus set out down the hill, the shimmering grasses parting around his hips as they rolled in the wind. Steiner snorted his disapproval.

“I don't know if we can trust this rogue, Princess,” he said to her, voice hushed as if the wind could carry it away were he too loud. The leather of his thick baldric creaked as he shifted its weight. “That boy Zidane is bad enough, but this man isn't even as genial.”

Dagger looked up from the diminishing figure of Marcus to her knight, giving him a fond smile. “Steiner, you shouldn't scowl so much—your face might stay that way.” She tucked the hair threatening to loosen from her tie back behind her ear, against the breeze. “If he meant us harm, he's had plenty of chances to do it.”

The steady, stubborn look Steiner settled on her before he answered made her worry, but then it relaxed all at once with a sigh. “Very well. I will try and give him benefit of my doubt, for your sake.”

Her smile grew. “Thank you, Steiner. Let's catch up—he's right, we do need more supplies if we're five days out.” She led the way down to the small market.

_____

Marcus was nowhere in immediate sight when they arrived, but Dagger's instinctive worry was held at bay by the myriad of stalls that greeted them. It wasn't a true town, nor even much of a village—to Dagger it seemed to be little more than the market square one would find in any town or city, with little else in the way of living quarters. There were mostly food and general supply vendors with lightweight wooden stalls that looked to her as if they would have been more suited to travel than a permanent place.

Steiner stopped to rebuild their poultice and concoction stores—potions and ethers, mostly—and so she meandered along, peering at this string of tiny vials (empty for your own personal touch, of course), or that interestingly carved walking stick (an attempt at runes, she thought, on a very non-magical piece of wood). One of the things she had come to enjoy possibly the most in her travels since she left Alexandria was seeing the happy bustle of markets like this one, and delighting in the different and sundry items from all over she could peruse.

After purchasing a small repair kit for leathers and cloth items alike, she gratefully paid for a small lunch from one of the nearby food vendors—a delicious-smelling spiced kebab with onions and smoke-charred meat skewered on it. The first bite confirmed her nose was no liar, and she was only able to savor the kebab with moderate bites from years of table manners ingrained into her. Nearly halfway through, she caught a glimpse of Marcus through a sudden gap between stalls. He sat just outside the outskirts of the market on a grouping of rocks that sat high enough on a small rise of land to see the sea in the distance. She rounded the last of the vendors to make her way over to where he sat, one leg stretched out and the other drawn beneath him, balancing a small basket. He didn't see her approaching, fiddling with something in his hands.

Curious tilt to her head, she tried to discern what he was doing as she drew closer. He held something dark and round in one hand, with the thumb of his finger braced against the side facing him. With a small flick of his wrist, the dark oval in his hand popped open and he lifted it to his mouth.

“Shellfish!” she exclaimed, and his attention darted up to her, free hand raised slightly in defense, and she saw now the small bright knife in his fingers.

“Didn't see you there,” he said, arm relaxing as she came to stop by the rocks he perched upon. Closer, she saw the basket balanced on his tucked leg housed both unopened and opened shells nestled in a cloth. He nodded to the skewer she held.

“Those're good, aren't they?”

“Oh—yes! I am surprised how good they are. I've never had one before.”

He lazily tossed the empty shell on top of the small pile of its similarly-fated fellows in his basket and plucked another from the other side. “Seems to be quite a bit you've never tried before,” he noted, focus on the shellfish.

“There is, but I could say the same of you were our positions reversed.” She watched with growing fascination how he deftly wedged the sharp edge of his knife into the tiny gap that bisected the valves of the shell. Bracing his thumb against the back of the blade—not the shell as she previously thought—he flicked his wrist and popped the shell open, a small puff of steam escaping.

He glanced up and caught her staring, and though the question was cordial enough, his voice was rough. “Would you like some?”

Quickly, embarrassed without quite knowing why, she shook her head, adjusting the grip on the slender skewer of her kebab. “Oh, no, I just—do you always open them that way?”

A small, sly sort of grin crept over his lips in the space of a breath. “Every one,” he replied, then lifted the opened shell to his mouth to suck out the steaming meat within.

Placing the empty shell down, he wiped a trail of stray juices off his lips, and motioned to her with the knife. “Your kebab will get cold if you don't finish it soon,” he reminded her, the roughness quieter than it had been before. Eyes still on her, he picked up another shell to repeat his process.

“I—oh. Right.” She tried to will away the heat that flooded her cheeks, and he cast his eyes back down to his knife, sparing any look he might have given her.

Feeling awkward simply standing there, she joined him in sitting on the rocks, the only sound of his approval the quiet crack of another shell opening.

“How does royalty eat shellfish?” he asked her after she'd taken a few more bites of the kebab and had lost any pause in the air to delighting again in the spices tingling her mouth.

“Usually,” she began, after finishing her mouthful, “the shells are already open and we use forks.” She twisted around to see him and caught a glimpse of his tongue flicking out to scoop the juices from the bottom shell. She told herself the heat in her throat was from the kebab. “Ah, that is, I always thought the steaming opened the shells.”

“Sometimes.” He picked up another. “Usually when they've cooked past their best.”

Her eyes followed his wrist. “Their best?”

Hands hesitating a moment, he cracked open the valves. “Here,” he said suddenly, leaning down and surprising her with an offer of the steaming shellfish, cupped and nearly encompassed by his palm.

“What?”

“Trust me,” was all he said, still holding his hand out to her.

“I—all right. Okay.” Taking the shell with her free hand, she peered at it. The meat inside was a few shades darker than she was used to seeing, but she had to admit it did smell quite appetizing.

“It won't poison you,” he grated, misreading her pause, and she chuckled nervously.

“No, I don't suspect it will, but how do I...?”

“Oh, right,” he said, “forks. Just tilt the edge up to your mouth and scrape your teeth over the inside while sucking. Should come right out.”

Dagger felt his eyes on her as she did as he instructed. The shellfish meat was still hot inside the warm shell, but yielded to her teeth and an appreciative noise thrummed from her throat of its own accord. Glancing back to see a half-smile tugging along his mouth, she nodded.

“ 's really good,” she told him, even as she felt a warm trickle of juice escape down her chin.

To her surprise, he reached out and wiped away the trail with his thumb, the strange half-smile still on his face and a tilt to his eyes that tightened a hidden cord inside her.

“Better than a fork,” he said, not quite a question, drawing his hand back.

Finding her voice caught somewhere in her throat, she nodded instead, watching him pick up another shell for himself.

“Your kebab,” was all he said, prying the shellfish in his hand open.

Her voice came back in that moment, a sound of affirmation as she dropped the empty shell into his basket and returned her focus back to the skewer, speckled with dark spices.

“There you are!” Steiner's booming voice called out from behind them. He carried two more cloth sacks he hadn't started with when they arrived with him. “I've been looking everywhere for you, Princess!”

“Dagger,” she corrected him firmly.

“It's not a big market,” Marcus drawled. “Couldn't have been looking too hard.”

“I have been getting resupplied,” Steiner snapped back, the flash of anger in his eyes bright.

Dagger partially covered a chuckle with her knuckles. “Calm down, Steiner, and have lunch with us. We'll finish supplying and head out after.”

“But he—” Relenting, Steiner sighed. “Very well. Where did you get that stick?” he asked, motioning to her kebab. “I shall have one of those.”

“Around the corner that way,” she told him, pointing in the direction of the vendor.

Marcus watched him leave and shook his head at her after Steiner had vanished behind the row of stalls.

“Don't you find him more hindrance than help?”

A fond smile wound its way across her face. “He's only doing what he believes is right, protecting me.”

He was still for a moment, studying her. “And what of your worry?”

The weight of all that had happened, of what she needed to do, sank back into her stomach like a stone into a pool at his words. “Perhaps.”

 

 


	5. Intermission II

Even three days after the attacks of those spider-like creatures, Dagger’s nerves hummed on alert. They hadn’t upset her; she’d grown more than a little used to the unpredictability of feral creatures while traveling with Zidane and Vivi from the Macalania Woods (regrettably now, she thought, the Evil Forest) through to Dali, but it was still a rush that sent her blood running hotter and made her more cognizant of her environment. Her magic came more readily than ever before, and she could feel the low thrum of it always just beneath her skin. It’d been there her whole life, of course, but having more occasions to use it seemed to give it more vigor, and so it was a constant subtle vibration below the surface, anticipating any need she might have of it.

Her eyes lingered along the waving grassland to the north, watching for signs of movement that might signal another creature, but none disrupted their undulations. There were no sounds at all save for the rustle and breath of the wind along the plateau, and of the noises she and her two heavier companions generated as they made their way through the waist-high grasses. Just by listening to their movements, Dagger could easily tell who was who even in front of them both—Steiner carried his armor and their supplies in a large pack, and his footfalls were heavier (and a limp on his left side that made a marginally louder, off-beat step than the right), but they were even, a soldier’s marching walk. Marcus was lighter of foot despite his size, but walked with an odd balance between leisurely meander and that of a watchful prowler, his footfalls steady but in a different, quieter rhythm than Steiner’s.

Though it was probably only the wind rustling through, some part of Dagger felt that she could tell he was closer by the way he parted the grass as he walked.

Traveling with Marcus was very different than with Zidane, who constantly filled the air with chatter of some sort. It’d been interesting to listen to him—he was full of stories (some of which she wasn’t sure she could quite believe)—she would not deny that, but a lot of it seemed put on to her. Like he was trying to impress those around him—trying to impress her. Marcus, on the other hand, kept much more to himself. She cast an oblique glance at the man in question, watching him observe the clouds and every so often look out toward the mountains that lay along the southern boundary of the plateau. No, he didn’t volunteer much information at all on his own, though he seemed willing to talk a little when she asked. Remembering him mentioning traveling along sea ports and knowing that the great expanse of water lay beyond the Aerbs, Dagger wondered if he were reminiscing on those times, if he missed them, or perhaps if something had happened that made him not want to talk about that part of his life. She’d gotten the distinct impression when she’d asked that he didn’t want the subject broached.

Of course, she’d never been able to resist the allure of a good story, and so part of her wanted to keep asking him until he relented and told her all of his, but the greater portion of her sense prevailed. Were she to do that, she knew it’d only make him clam up more. So, she held on to her questions, but did not discard them, tucking them into a safe corner of her memory. She wagered there might come a time when she could ask at least some of them and get the answers she wondered about.

A gust swept along the plateau grasses with a sudden rippling speed, tugging back at her hair and clothes and sending an involuntary shiver through her. It was the cusp of spring, but only in the lowlands, and not for the first time did she wish for a warm coat. Dagger angled the path she walked to draw closer to Marcus.

“Should we stop for lunch soon?” she asked. Before they’d left the little market two days prior, she’d made sure to pick up some dried strips of meat flecked with the same spices her kebob had. She harbored some small hope that the heat of the spices might help her warm up from the inside out. Perhaps she could even roast them over a small fire at some point.

Marcus didn’t turn his gaze from the sky when he answered her. “Taking time for lunch every day as we’ve done so far will slow our progress to Treno,” he told her, if a little clipped.

Pursing her lips in thought, she let out a soft sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

Now casting a look to her, his eyes seemed to observe much in the span of the breath she drew in. “Besides,” he added, is tone not quite as curt, “you’ll stay warmer if we keep moving.”

Fingers of heat crept across her cheekbones. “It’s not terribly cold,” she argued mildly, not exactly denying his observation. “Just, the wind makes it a little chilly.”

One corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Yeah, it does.”

They ate as they walked, Dagger pulling out the spiced strips and finding they did warm her a little as she ate them. She dropped back to walk beside Steiner to give him some of the strips, and in turn he shared some sweetened nuts he’d picked up with her. Trotting back up to Marcus, she offered him a small handful.

“Marsh nuts?” he asked, peering at the nuts nestled in her palm. He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m allergic to them.”

Withdrawing her hand and the nuts, Dagger’s brow knit. “But don’t many Lindblum dishes have nuts in them?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, though much of the motion was lost beneath his red bandana. Idly, she wondered why he wore it. “I’m not allergic to _every_ nut,” he said, a thread of amusement in his voice. “Just marsh nuts. In Lindblum, we usually use almonds or pistachios or southfield nuts.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, her forehead creasing as she looked at the nuts in her hand. Such small things seemed so harmless and tasted so sweet—it had never occurred to her they could be the culprits of potentially dangerous situations. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t want you to have an allergic reaction because of me!”

A breath of laughter escaped him. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to know. I won’t die because there are a few in my presence, I promise.”

Suddenly, he dipped his shoulders and head closer to her, almost putting his mouth right next to her ear, and she clasped her hand shut around the nuts and drew it to her chest reflexively, a breath hitching in a tiny gasp. This close to her, he smelled of leather and spices she had no names for, and she could feel his heat through the sleeves of her tunic. It took her mind a moment to catch up to the words he murmured to her.

“Don’t tell your knight, though,” he said in a low voice that she could feel reverberate through her ribcage and throat. “He might use my weakness against me one day.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed in return, swiftly pulling back to look up at him and protest, the words that Steiner wasn’t the sort of man to do such a thing on her lips. But as soon as she met his eyes, she saw the mischief in them. “Don’t tease me like that!” she said instead, lightly punching him in the arm. “You’re awful.” He rewarded her with a half-cocked grin.

“Is everything all right?” Steiner’s voice came from behind them, growing louder as he jogged to catch up to them before Marcus had a chance to reply to her. Once he had, he shouldered himself between them. “What did you say?” he demanded, glaring at Marcus, whose face shifted in surprise before it darkened.

“I didn’t—”

“I knew you would turn out to be a threat, to make the Princess lash out at you in defense like that,” Steiner went on, ignoring the Marcus’s attempt to speak. The Tantalus man’s mouth turned down in the ghost of a scowl and he folded his arms across his chest, ready to wait out Steiner’s tirade. Dagger found she could not exert that kind of patience in the face of such misunderstanding.

“Steiner.” Dagger could not keep the exasperation from sharpening her words, could not let him go on with the wrong idea. His shoulders tensed and his posture became rigid as he twisted enough to look at her. The astonishment was etched clearly across his face, she thought, that she would stand up for the man Steiner was convinced had wronged her somehow. The vicious thought of _how long had he been waiting for an excuse to lash out at Marcus?_ crossed her mind, but she pressed it aside. She was angry and frustrated, but would not allow herself to think so ill of the knight, of someone who’d protected her since childhood. She had to believe he was just overreacting. “Steiner, stop. We were only joking around. There is no danger. _He_ is no danger,” she stressed. He turned more fully to look at her directly, stunned by her words.

Fixing him with an unwavering glare she summoned from her best royal etiquette training, Dagger watched as red crept up the knight’s neck. Beyond him, Marcus’s eyes flicked over to her and lingered, his mien inscrutable.

“I must consider your safety before all else,” Steiner started to explain, but the conviction in his voice wavered. It was all she needed.

An ember of anger lodged in her throat, and she was all at once tired of his unwavering opinion that everyone was out to get her. That all the members of Tantalus were no better than thieving scum, and only he was able to protect her from them. The desire to prove him wrong, to shout out just how wrong that opinion was gripped her—how could he believe a man they’d just traveled five days with who’d risked his life to help her when he didn’t have to meant her any kind of harm? “I am in no danger here—not unless more of those creatures come upon us before we reach Treno.”

“I _am_ a danger,” Marcus cut in before she could say any more, catching her off guard and garnering looks of bewilderment from her and a suddenly smug one from Steiner. He shrugged away their expressions, the picture of casual. “But I’m a danger you need, a danger on your side. We’re all of us dangers,” he continued, and she felt a small knot unwind from her stomach. For an instant, she thought her trust in him had been misplaced after all. “Swords and magic and fury. But trust me or not, we’re all working toward the same goal. And you need me at least until we get to Treno.”

Steiner stood stony-faced and Dagger held her breath, waiting to see what he would say or do, as no sound but the wind held the tenuous moments between them.

 _Relent_ , Dagger willed at Steiner. _He is a good person; you are just too stubborn to admit it._

As if he’d heard her silent urging, Steiner relaxed his shoulders and hesitantly nodded.

“Perhaps,” he began, “I was too hasty in my judgment just now.” He shifted his stance so that he was blocking more space between her and Marcus than before. “You have proven useful, but that does not mean I fully trust you.”

Frustration welled in her throat and escaped in a hot breath. “Steiner,” she said softly, and the hushed anger held in those two syllables was not one she consciously intended. A quiet pain ached behind her heart. Why wouldn’t he believe Marcus meant no harm? It was plain as day to her. It made her want to shake him.

Marcus maintained a neutral expression, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. “Trust or trust not, we still have to travel together. I have no reason to betray you—let me be clear that my only motive is to find the cure for Blank.”

Dagger watched Steiner’s spine stiffen slightly, then flicked her gaze over to Marcus, who did not look away from Steiner, though she somehow felt he knew when she looked his way. She noted he hadn’t shifted his weight at all, did not tense as if he feared attack. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that Marcus could read a situation better than Steiner ever could.

“You… do not care that I do not trust you?” Steiner asked finally, cautious with his words.

Now Marcus did move, shifting his weight to rest more on one leg rather than both, and it immediately altered the entire mood of the situation. She felt her heart beat in her throat and wondered how he had done that. It did not escape her notice that Steiner (probably unaware he was doing it) reflected the change and relaxed his stance, not mirroring Marcus, but his shoulders were not taut as if held in an iron vice, and he leaned back just slightly from the offense.

“Knight,” Marcus drawled, “you won’t be the last to not trust me. And if everything works out the way it should, we won’t ever see each other this close again.”

The ache behind her heart twisted itself into a knot, then dropped a few inches toward her stomach. Catching herself before she sucked a breath in sharply, Dagger was only mildly aware that she lightly pressed a hand to her ribcage. It hurt not to see them get along, she reasoned with herself. They were both good men, but stubborn. And she immediately and desperately did not want to hear talk of them never seeing one another again (and told herself she meant as a group). At the thought, the knot dropped even lower.

Distantly conscious that Steiner was nodding in front of her, she heard him say, “I can agree to that sentiment.” He finally turned and stepped away from between her and Marcus, casting her a swift glance before looking out toward the east. “Let us be off, then, to hasten our task.”

Dagger watched Marcus track Steiner’s movements and he seemed about to make a sharp remark when his gaze came back and found her again. It was almost imperceptible, but she was sure his brow knit and his eyes narrowed briefly in what might have been mistaken for concern.

“Still chilly?” he asked, softening his voice so Steiner wouldn’t hear.

“I—yes,” she answered, startled by the sudden urge to reach out and grasp his arm. She wasn’t cold anymore, but didn’t know what else to tell him. Some quiet part of her mind recalled the heat she felt come from his proximity earlier and wondered if it would be as comforting as it was warm.

“We should follow,” he said, not taking his eyes from hers. “Your knight will have a fit again, if we dally.”

Nodding (and something sending a small shiver through her at his use of the word _dally_ ), she turned and followed in Steiner’s wake, not daring cast a look back to see if Marcus trailed after her. Not long after she set off, she could hear him walking behind her, and they soon caught up with Steiner’s pace.

Marcus’s long strides swiftly overtook both of them until he was the point of their trio—she abruptly realized he wasn’t trying to contain them and that he must have consciously matched them to her speed all the times she’d walked in tandem with him. Dagger could not get a sense of his mood or thoughts as she watched his shoulders shift with each step, but she could feel the remnants of tension from Steiner, who now walked beside her. Her magic vibrated beneath her skin, and though she knew it would do no good, a large part of her wanted to cast _something_ to try and ease this rift between Steiner and Marcus.

“Princess?” Steiner’s voice cut through her thoughts, and she sheepishly realized that he’d had to repeat himself for her to hear.

“Sorry, Steiner,” she apologized, voice quiet against the rush of wind. “What were you saying?”

His mouth stretched into a taut line, and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes seemed deeper to her all at once.

“Are you unwell?”

“I—no. I’m fine, Steiner. Thank you.” But she couldn’t stop her head from lowering in a brief show of humble acquiescence, nor prevent the impulsive glance forward to Marcus. Steiner followed her gaze. A mien cousin to disapproval and worry settled over his face.

“You still trust him.” It wasn’t exactly a statement, but Dagger struggled to find the question in his tone.

“I have no reason not to,” Dagger replied, keeping her voice even, studying the lines of displeasure framing his mouth.

“He and that group of thieves he is part of tried to kidnap you!” the knight exclaimed, and she understood now that he had been working not to explode in anger over the thought. “How can you say such a thing when they were ill news from the beginning?”

Anger still darkened in her eyes, despite understanding, and she retorted hotly, “And they risked their lives for me—one of those _thieves—_ ” she pressed an extra emphasis on the word— “is _still_ petrified because he risked his life to help me. _He_ ,” here she jerked her head to one side, indicating Marcus (either not aware they lagged or choosing to give them a growing buffer of space) ahead of them, “got badly hurt fighting, helping us. And besides, I _wanted_ to go with them,” she continued, knowing full well Steiner hadn’t been privy to her—or her uncle’s, for that matter—plan. “I wanted to get to Lindblum to talk to Uncle Cid about… about Mother. And Uncle Cid had hired Tantalus to do the same thing!” she finished swiftly, the words pouring out of her like steam.

Steiner stared at her, frozen in place. She halted with him, a sudden bloom of hope pushing out the quickened anger in her as she searched his face. Maybe that was what she needed to say, what he needed to hear, she thought with a hint of desperation. Maybe now he could stop accusing Marcus of a crime he never committed.

“But… why?” Steiner finally blurted.

He still didn’t understand. But there was still a chance she could try to get him to. Dagger shook her head sadly. “There are… some really strange things going on with Mother. I… I needed to talk to someone about them. Someone who’d understand, who might be able to help make things normal again. Uncle Cid had the same idea.”

“So the Regent of Lindblum hired… a group of _thieves_ —?!”

She frowned at him, the line of her mouth stern. “They’re professionals, Steiner. And we both realized it couldn’t look like my leaving was intentional, or have it tied to either of us.” Dagger paused to take a few breaths, to steady herself and her thoughts. She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Now can you—would you be able to trust him?” It came out more a plea than she anticipated or intended, and it struck her how important it was to hear him say he wouldn’t at least distrust Marcus. She did not linger on why she needed to hear it.

“I—” Steiner sighed, his shoulders bowed a little, and he relented. “I am not sure I could fully trust someone like him.” She winced at those words. “But I will try.”

Dagger smiled then, a tight cord in her chest loosening. (Though the knot behind her heart remained; she was unsure what caused it and unsure if she wanted to find out, at least at the moment. One battle at a time.)

“Hey!”

Their heads whipped forward, Marcus’s deep voice carried to them by the wind. Dagger gave Steiner a sheepish look.

“We’d better catch up,” she said.

Marcus waited for them, arms folded across his chest when they jogged up. “At this rate, we might make it to Treno in another week,” he groused. “Any more lengthy sojourns like that and I’m not waiting for you two next time, got it?”

“We will not tarry again,” Steiner announced, all formality with his chin raised and eyes straight ahead. He did not look at either of them before setting off in what was almost a march.

Marcus sent Dagger a mildly curious look, but she merely shook her head lightly at him and followed after Steiner. He was not long after. The breath in her lungs felt lighter than before, and she could not keep the small, hidden smile from her face as she listened to his steady strides behind her.


	6. Chapter Four

“I have to admit, you were right.” The admission came grudgingly from Steiner as the walls of Treno came into view.

“About which part?” Marcus asked, biting back the urge to explicitly point out that he’d been right about nearly everything so far.

“About the need to resupply.” Steiner paused. “And,” he added, even more refractorily, “that it was a prudent suggestion to wait until morning to arrive.”

“Glad you agree,” Marcus replied, eyes on the city before them.

The looming Aerbs behind the city cast a deep shadow over it, even when the sun rose above them. The heavy mists that clung to the feet of the mountains made the days as dim as twilight.

"You’ve been to Treno often?” Dagger asked him as they paused on the top of a mild slope that began a path down to the city gate.

“Often enough.” He knew that he failed to keep the contempt from his voice when she glanced up at him. He cleared his throat. “There are a lot of… tensions between the folk of the city and the nobles,” he said to her raised eyebrows.

“Tensions?” she echoed. “Is the city as truly dangerous at night as you say?”

Marcus hesitated before answering, his face scrunching a bit. “It can very well be,” he finally settled on telling her. “There is a disparity between the poor and the nobles, and it’s not a happy one.”

A distant snort came from Steiner. “A city of thieves and cutthroats, no matter how you look at it.”

Marcus caught a sharp edge to Dagger’s glance at her knight, but spoke before she had the chance to. “You’re right,” he said, turning his attention back to the city. “But you’re probably wrong about which ones they are.”

Blustering for a moment, Steiner snapped, “Oh, and I suppose you want me to think the nobles of Treno are the thieves?”

“They are.” Marcus felt the control on his anger slip a little, lifting his chin just slightly to glare over Dagger’s head at the knight. “All those damn nobles do is bring more money and frivolous luxuries to one half of the city, while the other gets less and less and crumbles for it. And then they blame the slums they helped create and perpetuate for making ‘their’ city look bad.”

“So you want noble families to just hand out their money to people with none? Somehow I do not think that will work.”

Marcus took a breath, cooled the rising anger. The wind carried a faint scent of the sea and it helped him push down more argumentative words. “No, I don’t want that, and most people living there—I don’t mean the nobles—don’t want that, either. They just want better chances to make a living.” He shifted the baldric across his chest, thumb running along the underside. “Give the chance to have a better life they can work toward, instead of unending poverty deep as a pit and just as difficult to get yourself out of.”

“Surely it cannot be as bad as all that,” Steiner protested still, but now doubt drew lines across his brow and crept behind his eyes.

Dragging his eyes away from Treno long enough to send as neutral a glance as he could muster at Steiner, Marcus simply said, “You’ll see.”

Without waiting for an answer, he started down the slope toward the city , the dirt path that had vanished beneath the tall plateau grasses forming again. Now that they were arrived at Treno, Marcus’ thoughts sobered, returning to Blank and the reason for his journey to the city. The last week seemed like a step out of time in some ways, and he had to admit that he’d been distracted by Dagger—and even Steiner’s—company, and not entirely unpleasantly. He wondered how much more somber a trip alone would have been.

None of that mattered, Marcus reminded himself as they neared the outer walls of Treno. Despite Dagger’s earlier insistence of wanting to help, he was sure he’d be able to lose them easily once inside the city, and get the job done with out any possibility of them complicating things.

As if reading his thoughts, Dagger spoke up from her usual spot at his side.

“I imagine there’s a place we’ll meet up with a contact of yours once we get in the city?”

Something twisted a bit inside him, the lie readily on his tongue and yet unwilling to loose it from his mouth. “Yeah,” he heard himself saying instead, “there’s a spot Tantalus frequents.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth. He didn’t have to outright lie if he was going to slip away regardless, and he realized all at once that he didn’t want to lie to her.

“Hopefully they’ll have some information on which noble might have the supersoft,” Dagger went on, oblivious to his deception. Her voice was hushed as they passed through the ornate wrought iron gateway to the city, making they way into the large rotunda square that received all who entered Treno from the plateau.

“Not many nobles live here full time,” Marcus began.

“Probably because thieves abound and conspire to steal from them,” Steiner interrupted, earning a frigid glare from Marcus.

“People like me, right?” Marcus’ voice held the sharp edge of a threat along his words. Before Steiner could bristle with a reply, he shook his head. “Let’s just grab the supersoft and get this over with.”

“How dare you!” Steiner snapped. “Do you think I’d let you commit a crime before my very eyes?”

Marcus grinned because he had no intention of them being around when he obtained the supersoft in whatever manner he needed to. “What, are you going to arrest me? We’re not in Alexandria anymore, Pluto Knight Captain, and you’re out of your jurisdiction. You have a better suggestion on how to get it? Think we should just mosey up and ask nicely if the kind and generous noble who has it will just give it to us to save my friend?”

The knight stepped toward Marcus, on hand balled into an angry fist. “Quiet! I will not suffer such brazen disgrace!”

Just beyond Steiner’s shoulder, Dagger caught Marcus’ eye and made a motion with her head. He couldn’t tell if she was indicating she wanted them to ditch the knight, or if she wanted him to keep Steiner distracted while she slipped off. Marcus remembered her mentioning sightseeing the architecture—of course she didn’t want to slip away with him. All the easier to ditch them when they were the ones leaving first, Marcus told himself.

Eyes sliding back to Steiner, Marcus drawled, “I never asked you to come along,” to keep the knight occupied while Dagger jogged away down a long and winding stone street. “Quit complaining.”

Steiner’s voice dropped to a frustrated hiss. “Don’t you talk back to me! First of all—”

It was too much for Marcus to keep a straight face as Dagger’s orange overalls vanished completely from view, and he let out an involuntary snort of laughter.

“Do not interrupt me while I’m talking!” the knight scolded. “Princess, we cannot abide this vagrant’s…” He trailed off as he turned to find Dagger no longer in their company. Frantically scanning the area, he only found the confused and mildly frightened stares of Treno’s denizens.

“Princess!” Steiner called out, and Marcus could have cuffed him for being so immediately indiscreet, except that his wild searching provided a short window of opportunity for Marcus himself to slip off.

“Not again,” Steiner moaned as Marcus went off in the opposite direction Dagger had gone, weaving his way through a group of people walking past and concealing his departure. The rest of Steiner’s words faded behind the constant chatter of the city. Marcus passed through a leaning wooden frame that served to mark the passage to the poor’s slums, high above the graceful canals and stepping stone walkways of the waterfront.

It’d been some time since Marcus was in Treno last, and peering down at the lower levels, he could see that not much had changed. The estates were all well-kept and as extravagant as ever, and the huge slabs of stone that made the walls holding up the upper walkways carefully maintained so that only the most aesthetic ivy grew unobtrusively along it, acting more as cultivated decoration than natural growth. A curling sneer pulled at his lips when his eyes fell on the lavishly carved and painted domes sitting atop the King of Wands’ estate. The four more decadent of the noble’s estates sat in a diagonal across from one another, each in a different quarter of the city, each as outrageously opulent as the other three. Each one as guaranteed to stoke Marcus’ irritation every time he saw them. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to live here, with constant gilded and marbled reminders of people squandering gil while the upper levels of the city fell into ruin.

Angry at each delicate trellis and every artfully sculpted, free-standing column in Alexandrian fashion evenly spaced along the canal’s gentle edge, Marcus dragged his eyes from the extravagance and continued along a wooden platform that spanned a crumbling gap in the stone walkway.

The walls might have looked picaresque at the canal level, but they were falling into ruin at the top. At least, Marcus thought, it kept the structure intact, instead of being derelict at the base. Small comfort.

Where everything was maintained the same for the nobles, here there were several new additions of wooden patchwork to fill in the larger breaks in stone—the smaller ones were too numerous to all get to. Instead of pruned ivy, the walls and walkways of the topmost level were spotted with an oily lichen, and moss grew out of many of the widening cracks between stone slabs.

As he walked, Marcus noted a few more thin buildings than there were last time he had been this way—they leaned against one another, the older structures against the new, to try and prolong their integrity before the family inside had to rebuild or find somewhere else to sleep at night. Feeling a tight pain in his hand, Marcus realized he was clenching it into a fist so tight it hurt, and he let out a slow and controlled breath, releasing his fingers. The disparity of poverty in this city, to have a ramshackle shanty town overlooking people with more money than they could ever spend in a lifetime and have it be so ignored grated against every nerve inside him.

An inn came into view to his left, nestled back from the walkway on wooden planks and shouldered in-between two other narrow buildings, just as run-down and hastily repaired as the inn itself. Outside, in the middle of the walkway, a young man and woman were pacing and talking, agitated.

“They exploited us to make their money, right, Sis?” the younger of the two, a boy, said. It was obvious he was looking more for an affirmation than a true answer to his question.

His sister nodded emphatically. “Right. But we can’t just sit here and complain, or we’ll end up spending our lives in this miserable place. We gotta _do_ something.”

At her words, Marcus’ attention piqued, and he felt the involuntary race of his heart. Perhaps there was hope, he caught himself thinking rapidly, his pace slowing to catch the rest of their conversation. Perhaps a younger generation would refuse to pick up the dregs left by the nobility and start leveraging change.

“Power to the people! Right, Sis?”

All at once Marcus found wild thoughts spiraling out in his head as he listened. What if someone could mobilize the people living here, get them to form some sort of committee to make themselves be heard? What if they could put together a petition to get relief or help from Alexandria or Lindblum and rebuild the top levels properly? What if they got a big enough crowd together with a single purpose and a list of demands—and compromises, he grudgingly added, knowing the nobility would never simply wholly agree to anything without getting something in return—to start building the lives they could, _should_ have here?

The young woman’s voice cut through his thoughts. “That’s right. Power to the people. We’ll never go hungry once we become nobles! Follow me, Mario!”

And with a single sentence, all the optimistic thoughts Marcus had cracked as the two walked away together, further along the stone path beyond the inn. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

It was all wrong—the idea they could get ahead by becoming part of the problem. Maybe if he were more politically minded, or more tied to a place, he’d help get ideas closer to right planted in people’s minds, start a motion toward betterment. He opened his eyes and closed off the part of him that wanted to help. But. It wasn’t his city.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, forcing such thoughts aside and clearing his head. He had a job to do, to save Blank, and couldn’t afford to get distracted by things he couldn’t change.

Leaving the stone walkway, his footsteps echoed dully on the wooden platform that lead back to the inn, the door creaking as he opened it. Inside the inn, it was cluttered on one side, spare bedrolls and threadbare blankets and pillows all stuffed in the space from the floor to a loft platform’s underside. An old rope ladder stretched up to the loft, where there were several thin mattresses laid out. A counter sat in the middle of the room, two uneven shelves on the wall behind it with a handful of liquors on them and an older man with half-moon spectacles perched on his nose hunched over an open book wider than it was long. Off to the other side of the counter was a set of stairs leading down to a landing beyond view. Liado, the old man, was marking notes down in an inventory ledger and did not notice Marcus when he entered.

Marcus cleared his throat to get Liado’s attention. “Hey there. Is everything okay?”

Startled by the sudden voice, Liado slammed the book shut on his own fingers and winced as he turned to face Marcus. “What the hell are you talking about?” He glared over the half-moon spectacles at Marcus with no recognition.

Used to this flaw in memory retention that Liado had, Marcus shifted a little and waited patiently for the man to remember who he was.

“Hey,” he said finally, eyes widening as he finally placed Marcus’ face. “It’s you! Where have you been, Marcus? It’s been close to—what, three years since I last saw you!”

An amused smile fought its way across Marcus’ mouth. “Only two, Liado. But you know me; been around.”

Liado chuckled, a rasping sort of sound that bespoke the man’s preference for smoking, something Marcus would have known from the scent of smoke lingering on his jacket even if he hadn’t shared several pipes with him in the past. “The man’s waiting for you,” Liado said, one of his eyebrows arching, the slant of his mouth a simper one.

Giving a small nod of acknowledgement, Marcus made his way around the counter and down the creaking stairs. A loud sneeze echoed up from below the landing, and Marcus’ mouth drew into a thin line. Baku liked his sniffing powder too much for Marcus’ tastes—shaking loose memories too near to his own mother’s addiction to the dreamwine that eroded away her life when it got so bad she refused to eat or drink or do anything but consume the damn stuff.

Stuffing those thoughts back and away, Marcus continued down the second flight of stairs and joined Baku on the next floor down, the space long and narrow. Tall as he was, Baku stood half a head taller, even without the long ears that perched atop his head. He gave Marcus a stern look through the goggles he wore.

“Yer late,” he groused.

Marcus shrugged, expecting that. “A lot happened,” he replied with no further explanation. “Left me kinda tired.”

He had something of a unique relationship with the current leader of Tantalus—mostly stemming from the fact that he’d been in Tantalus before Baku ever joined it, let alone began heading the troup. Marcus had only been a young child then, still learning under the wing of his mother in the young Tantalus of those days, but he’d been there. Though she’d never said anything about it specifically, Marcus was fairly sure he was born on the Prima Vista, flying between one venue and the next. By the time Baku joined as one of the actor-thieves, Marcus had already learned the difference in weaponry—the dulled blades of the stage, the honed steel for back alleys and protection on the road, the words and demeanor that could be just as deadly and effective as any sword.

Most of all, he’d been enamored with the plays his mother performed in. She was the best in Tantalus—man, woman, or otherwise—and was regularly cast for the vast majority of the leading roles. As he grew, he learned she was also one of the best thieves they had. She taught him everything he knew, on and off the stage, and was tougher than wrought iron on him—and when Baku joined, she taught him, as well.

Eventually, she left the troupe and ended up killing herself of neglect, and eventually Marcus went back to Tantalus. There was a familiarity between Baku and himself that almost translated to something brotherly, but not quite, that almost borderlined on insubordination, but not quite. If anyone else talked to Baku the way Marcus sometimes did, they would earn a beating twice over before they could say another word, but from Marcus, Baku chose to ignore it. Mostly.

“No excuses,” Baku went on curtly, and Marcus immediately knew either something terrible had happened or he’d found something. “You’re ready to go.”

His heart rose in his chest and he felt a nervous knot twist his stomach. “You found it?” It was almost too good to be true. “You found the supersoft?”

Baku nodded, handing him a folded slip of paper, then turned away from him. “Yeah, in a noble’s mansion. You’ll go by boat and break in tonight.”

They’d finally done it—after weeks of searching, of tapping old contacts, of bribing and intimidating, they’d found where the supersoft was.

“Leave it to me,” Marcus said emphatically. “I’ll make sure we get it and save Blank, no matter what.”

His back still to Marcus, Baku’s shoulder slumped just a fraction, but it did not go beyond notice. The bigger man walked to the next flight of stairs down, hands clasped behind his back and a sombre note to his voice now, a direct contrast to the giddy elation Marcus felt at the news.

“Yeah. Except now you’ve got two liabilities coming along.”

The reminder of Dagger and Steiner sent a host of mixed emotions surging through Marcus as he turned to watch Baku descend the stairs. No words formed when Baku paused to glance back up at him over the banister along the stairwell, and Marcus knew he could not keep his face from falling. Baku nodded as if he’d expected this.

“I thought as much. You sayin’ nothing confirms my suspicions you agreed to let them tag along.” The disappointment ringing through the accusation broke the dam welling up the words in Marcus.

“It wasn’t like that—”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Marcus.” For once, Baku snapped at him. “Lemme say this just one time: you get that supersoft for Blank like you said, _no matter what_ , or you and I are gonna have a problem. Don’t let either of those two get in your way. Got it?”

Taken aback by the ferocity of Baku’s threat, Marcus nodded. “I got it, Boss.” He didn’t use the term often, and so he laid it out now to try and convey how serious he was. Baku had to know that he wouldn’t put a chance to save Blank’s life below whatever moral scruples either Steiner or Dagger might try and convince him of.

Scrutinizing him through narrowed eyes, Baku seemed to accept his answer. “Be ready after sunset. And maybe you’ll get lucky and they won’t show up.”

He vanished through the door at the bottom of the stairs, leaving Marcus to lean on and grip the old banister with one hand, wood creaking beneath his added weight. He wouldn’t pass up a chance to save Blank, even if it put him at odds with Dagger—with the princess. But, she’d been fervent about working together to save him, insisting that she help. She had to understand that doing so might entail less than legal methods. She knew what Tantalus was when she’d planned to run away with them at the start of the whole mess. Marcus was sure that even if she didn’t completely agree with it, she’d see the need for it.

“Dammit,” he swore out loud, realizing he was already assuming she’d come along, even knowing it’d be far better if she didn’t.

Baku knew they would be a liability; he had to push aside the thought of her pleasant company of the last week and remind himself they were, too.

Pushing off the banister, Marcus turned and helped himself to some bread and cheese and wine from the store built into the wall, sitting at the long wooden table beneath it. An open book lay nearby, and he reached out to pull it over and see what it was. _The Vole Prince’s Demise_ , an old play written by a less popular playwright than most knew about, but one Marcus was familiar with; he’d gone through most of the stores of books Tantalus had stashed in various hideouts and safe houses. Now, it provided a short distraction while he ate.

With the shock and elation of knowing now they were so close to obtaining the supersoft wearing off, Marcus’ mind turned to logistics. He finished his meagre meal and set the play book aside. There were a few things he needed to see to now that he had a few hours’ free time—if his falcata’s integrity was compromised from the electrical shock from the black mage being the first and foremost, then he could drop his dirty clothing off with a launderer he knew while he was working that night.

Before he stood to set off to a weaponsmith, Marcus unfolded the piece of paper Baku had given him. It contained an address, scrawled out in Baku’s leaning hand, and Marcus had to take a few minutes, wracking his memory, before he could recall where it was. Satisfied he remembered how to get there via the canals, he refolded and then slipped the paper into a pocket. He had plenty of time before sundown to get everything he needed done.

Marcus went back up the stairs, nodding a farewell to Liado, who waved him off, distracted, and went back out onto the topside walkway around the city. Turning to his left along the stone path, he headed to an old tower that overlooked the silvery Knight’s House quadrant of the city. The weapons shop sat at the bottom of the tower’s stairs, so he descended down to it. Once inside, he meandered, looking at the various swords and daggers in display while the keeper spoke with a pair of customers. His hands found their way to a long dagger with a leaf-shaped blade. It wasn’t the fanciest thing in the shop, far from it, but Marcus found it beautiful with its simple form. Turning it over in his hands, he noticed the pale handle was made of bone and steel, and two small dark red stones were inlaid along the quillon on one side.

Lost in his study of the blade, he didn’t hear the shopkeep approach him until the rough scrape of a throat clearing sounded just over his shoulder. Setting the blade back on its display holder, he turned to face the shopkeep, whose eyebrows lifted as he recognized Marcus.

“Been a spell since you were last here,” he said, walking back to the front counter, Marcus trailing a few steps behind.

“Yeah,” he said, coming to a halt on the nearer side of the counter while the shopkeep went around behind it and leaned forward on his elbows toward Marcus.

“What can I do for you today, then?”

“Well,” Marcus began, reaching down and drawing out his blackened falcata. The shopkeep’s eyes widened at the sight of the blade as it was placed gently on the countertop. “Can you tell if this’s been compromised at all? Or if it’s just marred the surface a bit?”

Gingerly, the shopkeep took the falcata up in his hands, inspecting the blade closely and running his fingers over the flat of it. “I’ll have to do a couple tests,” he begins.

Marcus nodded. “I got time.”

“Okay. Just stick around for a few minutes.”

As the shopkeep vanished into a back room where a small forge was housed, Marcus took the time to meander the store again, eventually finding his way back to the bone and steel-hilted dagger. He hefted it in one hand, spinning it in slow and swift arcs alike to test its balance. It felt good. Simple but functional, and he was drawn to the elegant curve and shape of the blade itself. From the back, there were several minutes of steel hitting steel, interspersed with bouts of quiet and a soft hissing noise. After a time, he heard the shopkeep walk back from the forge rooms to the stop proper, and so set the dagger down once again, moving to meet him at the counter.

Sword in the other man’s hands, Marcus glanced over his face to try and gauge whether he’d be hearing good news or bad. His face remained neutral, though, as if still assessing the situation rather than about to deliver the answer.

“Well,” the shopkeep told him, “the steel’s still good. No loosening at the cross-guard, no weak spots in the blade itself.” Giving Marcus a shrug, he looked up from the sword to his customer. “Far as I can tell it’s just blackened.”

A small winch of tightness unwound within Marcus at the news, one he wasn’t aware was there. It was just a sword, and he could certainly get another just as serviceable, but he rather liked this one, and it’d helped him survive far more than his fair share of fights. Grateful, Marcus picked it up and sheathed it.

“Thanks—how much do I owe you for the once-over of it?”

The shopkeep cocked his head a bit, considering. “You’re a repeat, so say, twenty gil and I’ll call it even.”

“Sure.” Even as he dug into his coin purse for the gil, his thoughts bent back toward the dagger. “And—how much for that dagger over there with the bone hilt?” He motioned in its direction with his head.

Looking past Marcus’ shoulder to search out which dagger he referred to, the shopkeep finally spotted it. “Not looking for something flashy, eh?”

“Wasn’t really looking at all,” was Marcus’ reply. “It just caught my eye.”

“In that case, it’s three hundred gil.” He looked back at Marcus. “You want it?”

Pausing only a moment to consider, Marcus shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll take it.” He set the first twenty gil for inspecting his falcata on the counter, then produced the rest for the dagger.

Sweeping all the gil off the counter and into something hidden from Marcus’ view on the other side, the shopkeep smiled at him. “Thank you—dagger’s all yours.”

Marcus picked it up on his way out, sheathing it and tucking it next to the falcata beneath his belt for the moment. While he can’t succinctly justify the impulse purchase, it’s not like another dagger would be remiss for him to have. Glancing up at the foggy sky and trying to discern the time, he guessed he had a few more hours at least until what passed as true nightfall in this city, when he would be setting off to finally retrieve the supersoft. More than enough time to fashion a proper frog for it before he had to leave.

One more stop before he headed back to the inn to drop off his dirty clothes with a launderer, and then he was on his way. In his haste upon hearing the supersoft had been located, he hadn’t changed into a new set of clothes, but it didn’t much matter at this point. He’d wear the same set for a month if it meant being able to save Blank from his stony prison. Though, when he did return, he took a quick partial wash in the hidden set of rooms in the inn below the pub’s main level—the important bits to get the worst of the sweat off. After doing so, he did feel marginally cleaner as he sat down at the long table against the stone pantry to fashion a serviceable frog for his newest dagger.

While he worked, several people came into the building—Jina, the waitress, coming to start her shift for the evening in the pub that operated on the first floor, deftly shuffling around him to fetch this or that to prepare for their patrons; customers themselves coming in, chatting amicably with Liado and Jina. It all became background noise to him after a while as the evening drew near and the pub up the stairs from him filled. In the back of his mind as he sewed leather, Marcus was glad Liado still had good business.

So used to the constant murmur of conversation drifting down the stairs that he stopped picking out individual voices as they rose or fell in excitement or laughter. After a week on the road in relative quiet with only two other companions along with him, Marcus was surprised to discover he missed the enveloping sensation of being near the dozens of conversations of a crowd. He’d grown up amid an entire troupe of people who were constantly bantering or bickering, and hearing the cheers and shouts of crowds as they performed. It was a stark contrast to the silence of being on a mission, or the quiet of traveling alone on the road.

“There you are!”

The lone, emphatic voice came out of nowhere, reaching through the rest of the pub’s conversations down to Marcus. He looked up from the nearly finished frog in his hands to see Dagger descending the stairs, a smile on her face.

“Have they learned anything about the supersoft here?” she asked him once she joined him at the bottom of the stairs.

He didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to finish sewing up and knotting off the frog for his new dagger. Once he was satisfied, he let out a breath. “So you’re still set on coming along.” It wasn’t quite a question, but not entirely a flat statement, either.

Instantly, Dagger’s eyebrows went up and her eyes widened. She leaned in close to him and whispered excitedly, “So you found it! We can finally save Blank! When do we leave?”

Marcus did his best to ignore her proximity, and a corner of his mouth twitched downward. “ _I_ will be leaving sometime after sundown tonight.”

Of course, she noticed this and her look of excitement turned to an alarmingly coquettish one. “When do _we_ leave?” she repeated, mirroring his emphasis.

Consenting to defeat in this, Marcus shook his head. “We can leave right away, now,” he groused. “Unless you’re not ready to go—I can’t sit around waiting all night.” One last attempt to dissuade her, though even he had to admit it was a halfhearted one. But, Marcus did promise Baku he wouldn’t let them get in the way—nor did he want them to, not when Blank’s life was on the line—and the easiest way was if they weren’t there at all.

She laughed at him, the sound warm and musical and he instantly regretted how much he enjoyed hearing it. “Don’t be silly. I’m ready to go right now.”

With a resigned nod, Marcus attached the new frog to the bone-hilted dagger, then clipped the whole thing to his belt. It balanced nicely against his falcata, doubling against it in a way he decided he liked. “Boss’s waiting at the dock, then.”

He turned to head down the second set of stairs, not waiting for her, but she was right in step with him at his elbow, the space she’d frequented during their journey across the plains of the Bentini Heights. A loud clatter of steel plates banging against one another came from behind them, heralding Steiner’s approach.

“Princess!” he called, receiving a sudden hush in several conversations of the patrons on the pub floor and an icy glare from Dagger herself. “Princess,” he said again, in a fiercely loud whisper, “please wait!”

Marcus didn’t stop. “I understand if you need to stay here and calm your knight down.”

Transferring her glare from Steiner to Marcus, Dagger shouldered past him, her slim frame pushing his aside. “We’d best be off,” was all she said, her tone brusque as she reached the bottom of the stairs before him and left out the door they led to.

Steiner caught up to Marcus by the time he reached the next level, and he didn’t stop the knight from barreling in front of him to go through the door Dagger had vanished through a few moments before.

“Princess, please wait! It may be a trap!” he heard Steiner saying as he followed the knight out. “You cannot trust criminals—think of the consequences! You are a princess, and if the queen hears about this…”

Dagger had come to a halt before Baku, who towered a good few head and shoulders above her, and only then finally looked back at them. Her dark eyebrows were furrowed toward one another, and her mouth turned down just slightly at the corners. It was the disapproving look of someone well schooled in giving such looks, and Steiner stopped in his tracks and even looked mildly ashamed under her scrutiny.

“Steiner,” she snapped, anger making the amber in her eyes flash. “If my mother hears about this and condemns me for doing what was needed to save the life of someone who put his own on the line to save mine, then she’s more than welcome to. I’m tired of this blind faith that my mother knows best—she doesn’t, and that’s exactly why I’m helping do this and going back to try and talk to her about what’s been going on.”

Behind her, Marcus watched Baku’s eyebrows go higher than he’d ever seen them before in startled appreciation. Steiner himself, to whom her anger was directed, could only stand speechless for several moments. Marcus felt an urge to smile tug at his own mouth, but he resisted it, scraping his tongue lightly against his teeth instead.

A gentle tapping was the only sound that broke the silence, coming from the boat that was moored in the water a floor below them bouncing off a post. Baku cleared his throat.

“Princess,” he started, his tone inscrutable, “you do know that breakin’ and enterin’ is a crime?”

She turned her back to both Marcus and Steiner to look Baku up in the face, meeting his gaze with steely resolve that Marcus could see in her spine. “I am well aware of what we’re doing,” she said, the weight of each of those words sinking through the air almost like stones would in the water beneath the dock.

Marcus slipped past Steiner to walk up to where Dagger and Baku stood and looked up at the Tantalus leader. “Let’s go,” he said.

Baku nodded and turned, leading them down the wooden stairs to where the boat was moored. Behind them, Steiner surged into motion, cursing.

“I cannot condone going along with this—breaking and entering and stealing!” Every step down carried a complaint with it.

Thinking that such willful blindsight about Alexandria’s Queen was a far worse kind of bad influence than he could possibly show Dagger in an entire lifetime, Marcus said, “Do whatever you want. I’m going to get this supersoft for Blank no matter who does or does not come along for whatever reason.”

He moved through them all to the edge of the dock, frustrated that he couldn’t just leave right now, that it had to be made into a conflict. Even if it was just Dagger who insisted on coming along, at least she could do so quietly and wouldn’t make a commotion about it. Without waiting for any more arguments to be brought up, preventing him from leaving on this mission for even longer, Marcus got into the boat.

“Dammit, I _am_ coming along. It’s my duty to protect the princess from bad influences,” Steiner huffed as he caught up to them.

Baku turned, hands akimbo on his hips, staring back at the trailing knight. “Always talkin’ about your ‘duty this’ and ‘duty that’. Ain’t you got thoughts of your own?”

Marcus knew well the irritated tone that wove its way through Baku’s words now. He caught a particular glare that was sent at nobody else but him, and it drew a frustrated breath from his lips. Marcus would surely be hearing about this later, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. It wasn’t as if he could simply dump them off the side of the boat en route, no matter how much he was sure Baku might want him to.

“Watch your tongue—I’m escorting the princess to ensure her safety—”

Baku rolled his eyes, very obviously. “I thought you might’ve changed after travelin’ around with Zidane for a while, but…” He shrugged, giving off the impression of being both completely uncaring and also monumentally disappointed. It was one of the things Marcus had never seen anyone else do quite so well as Baku, and this time was no different. “I can see you haven’t changed one bit. Do you even know why you’re here?”

“What do you mean?” Steiner shot back, only to receive a withering look and a shake of Baku’s head in reply.

Something in the the last question Baku threw at Steiner struck Marcus as an odd thing to ask—unless the answer wasn’t as straightforward as simply retrieving the supersoft. He peered up at Baku, keeping his expression carefully neutral, sifting through the different pieces of information he knew to try and put the puzzle together differently, to try and see if he could make that questions make more sense in this context.

Dagger’s words, flat and cold, cut through his thoughts for the moment. “Let’s just go.”

Much the same as he had done only moments ago, she climbed into the boat with Marcus, who automatically held up a hand to help her in, which she very pointedly ignored. Well, Marcus thought, this mission was off to a stellar start already.

“Dammit!” the knight swore again, coming up to the end of the dock as well. Baku blocked his path. “Now, see here—”

“I won’t stop you.” Baku dismissed Steiner with a wave of his hand, then folded his arms across his chest and leaned down to look the knight straight in the face. “But listen. You get in the way of us gettin’ this supersoft to save our boy Blank, and you’ll have a lot more to worry about than just watchin’ over a princess.”

Blustering angrily, Steiner retorted, “Are you threatening—?!”

Baku clapped a thick hand on Steiner’s back, said, “I sure am!” and without any further warning, shoved him forward off the edge of the dock and into the boat with Dagger and Marcus.

Seeing this at only the last moment, Marcus grabbed one of Dagger’s wrists and yanked her out of the way, toward him. She slammed into his chest as Steiner crashed down into the bottom of the boat, rocking it severely and nearly knocking the two of them off their feet as well. It was only Marcus’s wide stance and solid footing that preserved them from all ending up in a heap. Once the rocking subsided to a manageable amount, he released Dagger and shifted to untie the boat from its mooring.

Baku bent down and shooed his hands away. “Don’t let them stop you,” he reminded Marcus once again in a low voice, who nodded back his affirmation.

As Dagger helped Steiner up to a sitting position in the boat, Baku finished untying the boat and tossed the rope in with Marcus, then placed his boot on the edge and gave a great shove. Quickly, Marcus sat and used the oars to right them onto the proper course. He took a moment to glance back at the slowly receding Baku, giving him a nod and another promise under his breath.

“I won’t.”


End file.
